#funny how literally an hour in the sun is enough to cure mental illness

[roscoehamiltons]

I am back from touching grass and having the sun touch my face and I’m pretty sure my depression is cured now

1. a magic portal

2. some flowers :)

3. some more flowers and some mystery spikey looking fruit

4. some different mystery spikey fruit(?)

5. someone was growing grapes in their little community garden plot. i may or may not have plucked one off to see if it tasted good (it was very sour but good lol)

6. i also stole some blackberries that were growing on a bush nearby, and stained my hands and my white shirt in the process (the stain on the shirt is tiny and at the bottom luckily, and I think I got most of it out via scrubbing it w soap and water)

[meditationsinausterity]

Imagine I'd managed to upload this yesterday

When I had a blog in previous incarnations i'd always include a feature where I'd do a weekly roundup of things i was grateful for in my life. I believe it was due to a brief fixation with Gala Darling before she went full lifecoach and I mentally called closing time on it (I have so much to say on the cult of lifestyle and its wilful economic blindness and self-servitude, but that's for another day), but I have found that consciously thinking about what things in my life I am grateful for does allow me to carry on, even when things are bleak, so I've been doing it in my diary ever since. It's since been bought to my attention in my support sessions that actually, cultivating the practice of actively looking for the good things does build that mental muscle significantly, and makes it much easier to channel it in the dark times. I'd go so far as to say that was true - i'm not exactly super-ripped positivity wise, but I definitely have a strong enough bright-side seeking instinct to keep it up in the face of the dark longer than most. And the more I do it, and the more often I do it, the stronger that will be.

Even focusing on tiny things can help; it reminds me of Pollyanna, that classic children's novel (and amazing film to watch at christmas when you're comatose on stuffing and ill-advised liqueurs). She gets crutches instead of a doll for christmas from the mission, and her response is to thank God that she doesn't need them. Even when that bitch does need them she keeps her head up and looks on the bright side. True optimism in the face of life kicking you in the dick. as a paid up atheist I personally would thank Fuck, because I can see, believe, and feel a fuck; so in that spirit, I present to you 'Thank Fuck It's Monday', my way of starting each week on a note of positive review of the previous one.

Enough preamble; this is what I have loved this week:

+Getting back into my city

I may have previously mentioned that my life was torn between being overworked through choice, and comatosely drinking wine on the sofa i slept on? Not so much right now. I've had a lot of appointments for this week, none of them particularly exciting or appealing, since they were all job centre and finance related, but I have walked a great deal, and seen a great deal. It reminds me very much of when I first moved to London and i started to get to grips with the geography of the city, but I lived in Portsmouth ten years ago, so a lot of my wanders have the superimposition of nostalgia stamped on them. There is also something about being poor enough to not be an active consumer, and therefore participant, in a city, that makes you stop to take notice of all the things that are visually beautiful, or even just distinctive, about a place as you walk through it. It's all a bit Baudelaire, the whole man of, but apart from, the crowd vibe.  I had a moment while I was waiting for everything to open on Friday morning, where I sat reading my book in a sun-soaked Guildhall square, and I remembered, simultaneously: graduating on the steps and having a picture with my best friend Dan; but also, wandering through it looking for my first linguistic techniques lecture; and also, having my first argument with my then-boyfriend by the modernist steps up to the council office. All this early twenties nostalgia was all superimposed with how lovely the sun looked hitting the square, and how quiet and beautiful it all was at half past eight in the morning. It's not quite the same as the beauty of initial discovery (which is always tinged with anxiety, if my memory serves me correctly), but I am learning to appreciate the beauty of rediscovery for what it is, and realize I've lived a rich and characterful life that i should appreciate against the backdrop of my rich and characterful city.

+Early mornings

I am not a devotee of the early morning rise. I used to say so very plainly at work when I was running pubs in London, and yet I was always the favourite of cleaners and delivery drivers because I'd be bright and enthusiastic when they came in to see me on an opening shift. I had a florist when I worked in Highgate who would give me the clippings from what he'd done in the bar because I was alert enough to chat to him and ask questions about the beautiful blooms every morning, and I never really thought much of it. When I quit that job he had to be reassured there was no funny business before he'd continue to florally arrange.

It's because I've been so used to being a sluggish, puffy faced witch in the morning that I'd allow myself an hour to get ready, plus another hour for travel, plus any leftover time at work to drink coffee and smoke fags, and get ahead. All to pre-empt any lateness anxieties (I get them big-time) and any curveballs that might come my way that could put a crimp in me bossing it for the day. I no longer have that structure to my day of needing to be somewhere and do something at a certain time, but I'm finding that with or without the need to, I am getting up early in the morning, making my bed, tidying shit up, and then cracking on with a self-imposed routine . I realized it, the other day when I was in bed with someone else, on their day off, and was taking one myself; I woke up alert and thoughtful and ready, and promptly moved myself to the kitchen where I mainlined coffee, wrote fuckloads in my journal and read Rosamond Lehmann until I was lethargic enough to not be an annoyance in the bed. I'm starting to ponder if actually I've only ever not been a morning person before because i am a late-shift worker with a tendency toward anxiety insomnia, since waking up and cracking on with things is making me feel far better about my day than I thought it ever would.

+The surprising efficiency and politeness of British bureaucracy

Now, I've mentioned my previous tabloid and 'glorious working class' related shame around job centre visits. Industrial revolution level refusal of charity plus a dominant nature of outrage and shame is powerful, make no mistake. Not to mention, so many people I know have told me horror stories about their personal experiences, or other applicants (I can't say I necessarily condone this technique, it smacks of trying to create shame). I was nervous, and I was led to expect the worst of my experience in the buildup. I channelled my inner Pollyanna to get there (while musing on shame and guilt as we've read) and sat in the queue scribbling on my copy of Cures For Love by Stendhal. I have to admit I was a little disheartened initially when I saw a nervously friendly German man in front of me get absolutely shut down by the greeting staff who refused to respond to his attempts to humanize his experience by saying things like 'I don't know if you remember me' into a wall of efficient silence. It made me really unhappy that he was attempting to be seen and recognized as a human and was met with a response of 'you're on the list yeah, go here'. But i ended up sat next to him on a functional yet cheerful sofa,and we had a conversation about philosophy as a whole and why I liked Stendhal as opposed to Kant (I will take what i can get, alright?). He remembered everybody's name and was as visibly nervous and uncomfortable with the whole experience as me. I'm sorry I never got his name before he chipped off to his appointment but it was a relief to feel like somebody else like there was like me; not comfortable despite years of tax and working, but also determined to be seen as a person because otherwise how do you exist? My fears were alleviated when I met my advisor, and she helped me with identification protocol, processed my claim, and spoke to me about clothes and fashion after an indepth conversation about retail. She was wearing a stunning victorian blouse and I asked her where it was from, and when she said the h&m sale I knew she was my girl. I went back the next day to see her with the supporting documents she'd asked me for and it was literally like we were mates, not like she'd bent over backwards for me to get my documents processed super quickly, which she absolutely had. I'm calling fie on stories about the job centre; you may not like to have to be there very much but there are people there who are on the level and see who you are. I have left there feeling very lifted even when I arrived home rain soaked and frozen.

Honorary mentions:

Hearing songs I forgot I loved everywhere and it making me remember all the times that were good in my life - kissing someone briefly in a lift to say bye and thinking i might have been too bold but hearing them toot me on their way to work and nearly bursting - instant coffee - oranges in all their forms - seeing a thereapeutic technique (reaching out to people when you're not down to make you more adept at it when you are) pay off to give you a richer life - dalston drinks cherryade - listening to the radio again and remembering how much I genuinely love music - being able to cut my own hair and look good - tinned fish in all its forms - honest and frank conversations that needed to be had - being somewhat horrendous at video games but overcompensating by being a prick - getting slowly back to a skincare regime - the phrase 'you ate the same amount as me' - remembering I can make gravy the way I used to - getting my birth certificate - discovering things I want to see and do in my hood - having and maintaing excellent nails - hair oil in any form - Dan who works for LG and his hilarious service style - sleeping like a dead person and waking up feeling good.