Do you know what I hate most about my mental health? It’s not that it leaves me in a state of intellectual catalepsy or that it darkens even the brightest of days. It’s not that it is unpredictable as west coast weather or as deleterious as vindaloo. I struggle every day with it, (although most days I can cover it well), and even that – it’s temerity and gregariousness – isn’t it’s worst aspect.

It’s that I can’t talk about it.

Let me explain that a little. Because, yes, I do say I have it, and my friends understand. I don’t think everyone does; I think there’s still a hideous stigma about it, and there are still too many people out there that equate mental issues with “being at it”. I try to see their point of view – I mean, if you don’t suffer you don’t see – but it boils back to how I’m feeling, and I get caught up on how other people view me – and guilt, self-deprecation and paranoia sink their claws in.

I even spotted a section on the Bungie website (creators of my new obsession Destiny 2 on the PS5) about mental health and that’s great. We need to get it out in the open. We need to talk about it, both sufferers and lucky alike.

But my point : I CANT explain it to someone. I can’t tell them where it hurts or what’s making it hurt. It’s all, literally, in my mind.

The catalyst can be anything. Today it’s the Armageddon strain taking hold for the third time (covid btw). Most of the time it’s an aside made at work about how things are shit. Yes they are, but I’m trying to survive and I don’t need people reminding me there are better things out there when they won’t pursue them themselves. One person in particular, who doesnt thankfully read this. Yes- that person. Everyday chips more of my soul away. I’ve been on the edge for far too long. I don’t know what it’s like to be at peace.

Every waking moment I’m thinking about the other side. How people are happy, have wonderful partners, and to an extent are content – I’m envious. Not jealous; I love my friends too much I’m never jealous. But I’m definitely envious. Oh yes, I’m sure nothing is perfect with them either, I’d never assume such things because I’m very aware of everyone’s right to individuality and uniqueness. We’ve all got problems.

But how do I explain my issues to the people i love the most? I can’t. There are no words. Quagmire. Maelstrom. Kaleidoscope. Cerebromania. Miasma Infinitum.

All I ask of any of you…if you’re like me, stay positive. Fight it, do not go quietly into the night. If you’re fortunate, then stay supportive and keep your own mind open. Be patient. I need you to be tolerative when I’m trapped in my quagmire. You can’t help me out, but you can stop me from sinking.

Marching in the Misery Parade

The drums have been beating for a long time now, and the portents of doom have been hovering in the air like vampiric midges. The atmosphere is encroaching as in a thunderstorm. Oppressive, like a heavy weight pushing your very soul into the soil; a vacuum of biblical proportions sucking the life essence out of our withered husks – we are all, quite simply, pooped. Like out of the back end of a gypsy cob (because they have the biggest turds).

Its 2023. The end of last year changed my life. And hopefully such incandescence will continue into this new year. No guarantees of course, but things are looking rosy, at least in the small ways that i pay attention to. I’m published in the upcoming Blakes 7 annual 2023 (coming soon from Cult Edge), i’m going to Malaga, then i’ve got a 40th with my best friends in the world, then i’m going to see Mike Wozniak in easter (tick tock, Wozniak o’clock), then i’ve got my own 40th, and sometime throughout i’ll be visiting Jurassic Drummond, airBnBing down to England for an amble-by-the-sea, then likely doing some other nonsense at other, unspecified dates.

Who knows what i’ll be doing workwise. The future of my company lies still in limbo, and my personal future with the company is at concrete as a bag of clouds…but as the famous phrase goes, every cloud has a silver lining. Except the firing of Henry Cavill as Superman. Nothing good will ever come of that travesty of cinema. I had to watch the excellent Enola Holmes 2 last night to counter a depressive funk brought on by too much Cavilline contemplations. No Witcher, No Superman. Thank Krypton we have his Warhammer movie to look forwards to.

But i’m not here to rant about the decisions of James Gunn, am I? No. This is just a rant about the decline of hope and the dissipation of aspirations. The kick to the teeth of optimism and the gut-punch of life undesired.

I’m writing currently so many things that i can’t even name all of it here. I’m working on two Pandora Man scripts (The Denton Iterations and Heartbeat of the World), trying to finish Dr Who: Accident and Emergency, and putting together thoughts for numerous speculative shorts such as “Humanity Extraction”, “Widdecombes Nightmare” and “The Tennoffusaur”. Keep an eye out!

Right, well, Happy New Year to my readers (i’ve noticed i have a few subscribers now, so thanks very much to you all!!) and i’m off to rejoin the parade. Where the fish are more intelligent than the staff.