The persistence of the Monkeye!

Hello Monkeye my old friend...

I've come to talk to you again, because a leathery paw was softly creeping, on my duck back while I was sleeping....

Yes, Monkeye, you have tried your best to send me down that slope again.  You crept up on my me and attempted to take advantage of my weak moment.  And for a short time you had me believing in your Monkeye madness.  You're a crafty little primate I will give you that.  My webbed feet started sliding whilst my my beak clung to the cliff's edge.  The stark memory of my last journey down was fresh enough to make me fight.

Fight I did with every ounce of my being.  The struggle was both physical and mental.  It was hard, so very hard.  Of course I wanted to give in at times.  To succumb to Monkeye's alluring melody.  But I didn't!
The whole experience left me floored though and for several days.  My anxiety levels shot through the roof for a while.  But relent I did not!

Monkeye, get off my back and give it a rest!  I am building strength day by day and the more I speak of you the smaller you become.  I realise many people have their own Monkeye.  It is good to 'animate' you and speak about you in the third person.    I'm not overly impressed that, at times, you have  had me listening to 'You raise me up' ffs.  Now that is alarming behaviour!  But I guess there is some truth in the lyrics...'I am strong when I am on your shoulder'  Yep definitely but not the other way round when you, Monsieur Monkeye, are on my shoulder.

This business of sitting with yourself is bloody hard.  Just being, no alterations, nothing to numb you or round off the edges.  A kind of mindfulness is called for.  Allowing thoughts to come and go without judgement.  Still hard to quiet this Monkeye brain.  In a deathly duck-like silence I sit with myself and wait.  Some of thoughts are welcome to take wing, get the F out of my head, never to be seen again.  Other thoughts conjure up happy (albeit very random) memories...being a little duck with the world opening up, being in London in the late 90's with a Chemical Brother's soundtrack booming in the background   Out of Controlololol  Then I am back in my teaching days or studying again. One time and place comes up often.  I am 16 years old and it's winter in New Zealand.  I can smell the woody, smokey, fresh-wet- leaves-under foot scent. I can almost feel exactly as I felt at that time.  The absolute detail of many of the thoughts is a marvel. The mind an amazing resource. But some thoughts are clearly just my Monkeye they seem so irrelevant and immaterial.

I feel like I've been on one of those Buddhist retreats this weekend.  Have hardly quacked to anyone, haven't left the house, consumed no alcohol, eaten only foods made from scratch (incl pita bread. falafel, millionaires shortbread).  What???? I hear you say.  WTF is going on???? More alarming behaviour!  I have been wandering the house like a perpetual make-up free selfie. I am sure my friends Scooby Do, the Clod, Lace and Pieface would be proud of me.  Don't get used to it I say. I am NOT going all organic Duck.  No way Jose.  Just for a wee bit then ....I'll be back with a substantial and strong quack!  But for now a mindful, Buddhist Duck with a very small Monkeye I shall be!

Kia Kaha


#mindfulness #Buddhistduck #mentalhealth #anxiety

A letter to the Monkeye

This is a letter to my monkey brain or mental health journey, the names too many to list here.  I have called it Monkeye as I was 'inspired' by the Love Letters to Richard Dawkins (see link at the end of the letter).  Dawkins is an evolutionary biologist and has received a lot of hate mail over the years, mainly from fundamental Christian types.  In this clip he reads the letters as they are written (mistakes incl) and someone must have written monkeye instead of monkey and I thought perfect!  That's what I will call this 'thing'. Here goes:

Dear Monkeye,

I would like to write a letter of thanks to you.  Thanks for being part of my life.  Thank you for placing your hairy and sinister monkey paws against the soft down of my duck-like back and heaving me, beak first, down into the black hole!  For without your shove I wouldn't be where I am today.

The first thank you is for showing me how blessed I am with love and support.  Although it may seem sad to say, I didn't realise how much I was loved.  So now, thanks to Monkeye, I can continue on with my life in the knowledge that I am Duck-De-Resistance.  Well. maybe I am taking it a little too far. Over-egging the duck nest, trumpet blowing and duck on skis swishing downhill at rapid speed.  But I do feel it and I am humbled by this experience.

I am also pleased to make your acquaintance as our meeting has broadened my world view.  So many things have opened up for me.  I am a more open duck, spatch-cock if you like.  I am further receptive to new ideas and new ways of being.   I am lucky enough to attend a women's group, all struggling with issues.  Their honesty and openness has floored me.  The ability to laugh at yourself and, at times, with others has been a huge blessing.  I am constantly lolling in this group and am grateful to have had this experience.  I am just in awe of the, sometimes brutal, frankness of the group.  The no holds barred approach has my ducky eyes bulging at times!

Through it all I have leaned what is important in life.  Mental and physical health is so important I believe.  Getting a perspective on what matters.  Staring at life through the duck-barrel-beak and gaining direction.

Thank you Monkeye, as I am now free to be myself.  Dual duck, with or without a bone, but embracing all the options and going with the flow of the pond.  It's not an easy journey Monkeye, you made sure of that.  But now I can see the benefits of such a journeye :-).  Monkeye, my madness and my muse I thank you. Kia Kaha!

Regards,
Duck


                                                             Dawkins Monkeye

#monkeye #richarddawkins #monkeybrain #crazybrainletter

PTQD - Post Traumatic Quack Disorder

                                                                       
  

Post Traumatic Quack Disorder.  So, after my last post I thought I had 'arrived', destination duck in sight I could emit a quack of relief.  That wasn't too bad in the scheme of things.  Just under two weeks recovery and I am back on my webbed feet, shaking subsided, diamond duck!
I couldn't have been more wrong.  This first ducky dip was just the tip of the iceberg.  Little did I know that there were further depths to plunder, spaces so dark to fall in that the darkness itself took on an animated quality.  I thought I was done, complete, 'through the worst', yipee I am all better now.  Possibly it is a good thing not to know what's round the corner, not to know you will fall further and further again.  More than once I might add.  Phew, exhausting, scary and so so dark.

But, like a roller-coaster, you are not automatically finished after the first dip.  Oh no no no, there are many twists and turns to come and huge, gargantuan dips too.  Strap yourself in!

I've lost too many days to count in a haze of self-medicating, sleeping, self loathing then repeat.  I have startled more people than I dare to consider (cue self-loathing etc).  But still I have journeyed to the depths and beyond.  If I am honest, I have been in such pain at times that I have wanted to cut myself to release the pain.  A nice, big fleshy cut with fresh blood to transfer this pain into something physical.  I have let myself down.  I have let others down.  None of it has been good for anyone. I have so much love and support it is unbelievable.  But I must travel alone because it is my journey. Fuck I wish it were someone else journey.  Having said that I wouldn't wish this feeling on my worst enemy (if such a thing exists as I can't think of anyone to fit this category).  If I had to give one adjective to describe this journey/descent it would be SCARY.  Bloody scary and one of the scariest things I have ever contemplated.  Yet here I am fully immersed in it, feeling the weight of it and shuddering under its power.

So, if I am honest, while writing this I went and poured a beer.  I am not sure why but can probably guess it was the uncomfortable nature of the topic and the associated feelings it unearthed.  As I sat writing this, with tears sliding down my face, the shame and self-loathing started to claw its way into my psyche. What I did next is something I haven't done til this day.  Half way through said beer I wandered up to the people I am staying with and disclosed my indiscretion.  The relief was immense but still the guilt, shame and self-loathing lingered on.  It was a bold move and I was received with love and support. The compassion and warmth I was shown further served to affirm my actions.

As I sit writing I can hear the waves of the sea lapping on the shore.  I can clearly see it too from the doors out to the veranda.  I am in one of the most peaceful and picturesque settings I can imagine but still the craziness goes on inside my brain.  It is not enough to quell the voice in my head but I am learning and relenting to the charm and magic of the place.  Of course I beat myself up.  'Why are you doing this when you are here in this amazing, most tranquil of place?'  I really can't fully answer that. But what I have learned is that the interior monologue in your head can sometimes bear no relevance to physical setting.
I have been encouraged to focus on the positive, the fact that it is the first time I have essentially stopped mid-destructive behaviour and quacked out a little 'help' .  I got it and I have been so well supported I realise how lucky I am.  If I had no one it would be easy to slip and slide through the cracks down the black hole of self-ruin.  I can see how it happens and I really am grateful I have the support I do.  My heart goes out to those who are alone, who do not know such foundations.  It reminds me of an image I had when my nephew was born, two years ago.  My brother's child.  All of our family converged at the hospital (two sisters, Mother, myself, sister in laws parents).  I had a strong visual sense of a pod of dolphins circling and surrounding the situation with a tender protectiveness. This picture has stayed with me since.  The dolphins now being family and close friends.  Not a porpoise in sight :-)

Later on, after feeling a bit sheepish, I learned to gain strength and power from my action rather than descending into self-criticism.  I simultaneously feel a lot stronger and more calm.  I am far more self-aware of my behaviour, the triggers and the consequences.  Every step is a stride closer to recovery and each day I grow more robust.  This is not to say I won't slip down the hole again.  I am certainly employing all the help I can garner in this journey to restoration.  I have a wonderful, eccentric, Chilean psychotherapist to help me along.  In sessions I am confronted with difficult questions and a call to face the chilling reality.  Luckily we laugh and swear a wee bit so that lightens things up.  I am going to try some support groups.  I dance, I box, I run, I fall and I am laughing again. It is a journey from which I hope to emerge a better version of myself.  One with more wisdom and understanding, tolerance and lightness.  I will leave you with an article I read in the Guardian recently that really resonated with me.  See what you think.  Kia Kaha x



                                                           Why I don't use heroin


#mentalhealth #selfmedication