What to do with a medium when its germinating purpose has expired? Put rockets underneath it and light the fuse? Tiptoe away quietly, without saying another word?
I started this blog with an express purpose, or as much of a purpose as one has while depressed. I wasn’t doing any other kind of writing – well, there were the internet articles I suppose – a grim treadmill of underpay and over exacting ‘copy editors,’ but no novel – nothing which needed a flight of fantasy. I wrote because writing has always helped me process my darkest thoughts – I’m tragically inarticulate when it comes to speaking aloud – and I needed that outlet. But I’m better now. I’ve signed off the group and individual therapy sessions too. I eked them out over the past couple of months as a precaution, but I really don’t need therapy any more and this might be foolish to say, but I don’t think I’ll ever need it again.
I’m feeling creative again and this is such a big deal for me. I’ve written some poems and I’ve got a huge idea for a new novel, but I’m getting to work on the one I’ve finished first. So do I keep writing this blog? There are still things in my head that need working out. Elodie’s CFS overwhelms me at times, when she’s affected. She’s just had a four day ill patch, but last night she was singing and dancing again and I can stop worrying for a bit. I’m in limbo too about the prison job. I still haven’t heard that I definitely haven’t got this one, and I need to know before I can focus on what to do next. I feel really drawn to working in prison, and have thought about training as a literacy teacher as one way of being able to do that. If they don’t want me for this particular library position, I’m going to offer to run a creative writing group there. Does that sound a bit desperate? I really want to do it.
Above all, this blog has been about Juliette and me. For this past year her absence has dominated my thoughts in a way I didn’t fully allow over the previous eight years. I think because I’ve let this happen, her presence has receded. That isn’t forgetting her; it’s normal and healthy. I’ve integrated her story into my own in a way that I feel I can live with for the remainder of my life. I want to go forwards, but I’m taking take her with me.