The Matter of Self Mockery.

How do I carry on writing a blog in the circumstances currently prevailing? At the moment it’s nothing more than a whinge journal, and there’s a limit to how much I want to lay my deepest fears and innermost sensibilities on the line. Surely, I tell myself, it will only serve to bore people and leave me open to mockery in return. (‘Oh, we won’t mock,’ I hear whispered from the ether. Maybe not, but I will.)

The simple fact is that I can relate the circumstances as accurately as I like but it won’t change them. I can describe my feelings as graphically as my literary skills will allow, but none of us can ever guarantee fully to comprehend somebody else’s feelings. All I know is that the other myriad matters of consequence are lying semi-conscious at the periphery of my mind and lack the strength to take centre stage.

This health issue is as big as it is largely because there are so many angles to it. It isn’t something simple like an appendectomy or knee arthroscopy, something you go and get sorted before carrying on. It’s about comfort zones, alien worlds, painful personal barriers and control phobia, as well the vexed question of mortality getting uncomfortably close to home. One or two special people out there seem to be surprisingly close to getting it, and I thank them for that, but in the end we all have to face our demons alone and in our own way.

So how do I conclude this latest whinge? I’ve no idea, except to say that I don’t know what my mind will be able to communicate over the next week (I have added pressures in the next few days as well as the health ones.) And I wonder whether in a few weeks time I shall be mocking my neurotic tendency, or whether the rest will be silence. We'll have to wait and see.