Express your sense

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As a person in recovery, writing often helps me make sense of my self and the world around. At times I’ve no idea how I feel or what I am? One minute I’ve convinced myself I’m a remorseful psychopath wandering around comfortably numb. A moment later I’ve transformed into a hopeless romantic with love in his heart.

I can read a page of words and feel as if I’ve reached a point of understanding, then after re-reading my head feels like a box of scrabble pieces scattered all over the floor, reluctantly coming together for an awkward dinner date.

I often feel confused, guilty and frustrated and wish that I could edit emotions like I can words.


Last night I dreamt I was in the middle of the Yankee stadium. Guilt, frustration and shame came flying at me in the form of killer baseballs. They were impossible to hit. A stranger in the crowd shouted out,

‘Let them flow through you, like water.’

But I couldn’t and felt the pain of each one, like a thousand orphan children crying for their fathers.

Childhood chess in Oman

pexels-photo-206904.jpegAlthough many years ago I can still feel the intense heat, it was so violent it could’ve taken the skin off a worm. As I stepped out of the car the temperature immediately slapped me in the face forcing my body to tense up. At that moment I would’ve done anything for a cold can of fizzy Fanta……….

Mohammed took my hand before guiding me down a dusty road.  A couple of skinny goats lay panting underneath a fig tree occasionally shaking their heads trying to rid themselves of flies.  The shaded area was at a premium and the goats reluctantly shared it with an ugly camel. The camel had dark, goofy teeth and a ball full of saliva coming out the side of its mouth. The stinking animal made me think of my sick grandmother who was living in a nursing home.  The rotting stench is still with me all these years later and I can still smell the camels body odour and bad breath. Back then it reminded me of a dead cow. Continue reading “Childhood chess in Oman”