Another week is almost over. It seems to have dragged and I'm feeling tired. At home I indulged in some home cooked Greek souvlaki-I'm sure the Turks dispute that authenticity-had a beer and am listening to Haydn's glorious "Nelson Mass".
Last night I dined with my old friend Alison. We used to work together until she retired about 3 years ago. I had a lot of fun and eventually we got round to talking about "Charon's Ferry". Her take was nothing like I have heard before. I regard my recovery journey as being on going and triumphant. To her she was shocked at how bleak "recovery" can be at times. More than that she was shocked as a therapist who worked with me that she had not noticed.
Looking back on the battle to get a career out of nothing it was just that at times. I fought and fought, and sadly still do sometimes. There is always someone telling me I wasted my life, or I should get a proper job, or waiting for me to fail. At times life is shit but I try as best I can to get it into perspective.
Many who hear my talks or read my books describe them as inspirational. I'm not sure I get that, to me it is just my life. And that I'm good at telling a story. Behind that is always that fear of will the madness return, will I be found out, and that terrible fear of failure? My students all seek perfection. Maybe as my dad once said I still do despite knowing it can never be attained.
Yet I keep myself grounded by repeatedly telling myself I'm only as good as the students I can help; to those who walk out I'm a waste of space.
Friday tomorrow, early finish, glass of Pimm's and job applications. My heart says it will be fruitless yet I will still try. How else have I managed to move on, without trying and taking risks?
I Heard a Voice.
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