Toughing It Out

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From where I was seated, it seemed that no one cried at my father’s funeral.   It seemed to me that it was stoicism all the way.  Most of them were pretty good at it.  My 12-year-old nephew was looking a bit shaky for a while, parents wondering whether he would ‘make it’ to be part of the party to walk the casket it out.  And I can tell you that I was definitely shaky.  I was all but crying, but everyone was so stone-faced that I was determined that I wouldn’t ‘fall apart’.

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The Addict In Me Is Not Scum!

My first day at University (College in some countries), as a 31-year-old, turned out a little different from what I had hoped.  It was a big thing I was doing, heading into study as an adult, after about four years of mental illness.  I was pretty anxious, and that showed when I found myself sitting in a Chinese language class rather than the Psychology class I had enrolled for.  I made a quiet escape, knowing full well that while learning Chinese might be interesting and even useful, I knew I would never pass.  Languages and me have never gone together.

What I don’t like about me

I have two drafts posts here on Canvas [okay, I actually have more than two but those two are… particularly difficult]. I’ve been meaning to finish them for a while. I started one back in May and the other one a bit more than a month ago. I tried again just now. Read the first one, couldn’t bring myself to write anything. Closed that tab, went to the other, felt myself being triggered again. Closed that tab too.

Sigh…

So, I’m going to write about something that has been bothering me for a while instead.