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

A little bit quackers!

Just a warning before you read this blog post.  The content may not be comfortable for some people.

                                                                     

                                             
                                                       I was drifting, crying
                                                       I was looking for an island
                                                       I was slipping under
                                                       I'll pull the devil down with me one way or another
                                                       I'm out of my mind,  think you can wait?


               

These lyrics, by the fantastic group The National, basically sum up my life over the last wee while.  You may wonder why I would share this kind of thing.  I want to support the promotion of mental health awareness.  Where to start?

Looking back over my life I realise I have always experienced and endured an element of mental health issues.   From minor anxiety to mild depression.  Sporadically throughout my life I would find myself standing at the precipice of a black hole.  Most of my life I have been able to claw myself away from the hole and wobble back to 'normality' largely unnoticed.  I would dust down my feathers, practice my quack until the shake in tone subsided and waddle back to my life as an ordinary thing.  I was so scared of slipping into that hole, down into the pit of 'not-quite-right'.  If I could haul myself away from the hole I'd be alright, nothing wrong with me, I'm just like everyone else!  Phew, what a relief,  I am not the black duck of the pond.

Until recently, I came undone! I came royally and magnificently undone.  My feathers were falling out leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.  My eyes glazed over and I started to shake ever so slightly.  The incident that triggered this meltdown was a car accident.  A very minor car accident.  No one was hurt.  I was the only car involved.  I was on my way to work at the pond when it happened.  A bystander helped me change my spare tyre and Bob was my Uncle.  Off I quacked to work, bruised, in shock and stunned.  Then I did what I have done all my life.  I got on with my day, said I had experienced a flat tyre that's all.  In fact I laughed, joked and whooped it up a storm.  No one knew what had happened and I was determined to get through the day.  I did get through the day by the skin of my beak.

Later when I arrived home alone (Big Duck and Duckling were away) the shock hit me and I was promptly sick.  Still I had told no one.  I went away with a friend the next day and proceeded to try and drink the pain away.  I attempted to smoke the pain away.  I even tried to take a swim in glacial waters to numb the pain.  And guess what?  It was still there, sitting like an unwelcome guest at my front door step.  Laying in wait for me to return.  My attempt at anesthetising myself was so alarming to my friend that my cover was blown!  I was found out, duck on a rotisserie, revealed by my behaviour.  What happened next?

.
I decided it was time to get off this roller-coaster and seek help.  To put an end to trying to numb myself with things that take away the pain.  Because they only work temporarily and then the pain returns with a vengeance.  I went to the Doctor, told her everything and got myself some help.  It wasn't easy.  In fact it was (and still remains to be) one of the hardest things I have done.  It was like standing in a room featherless with nowhere to shelter and nothing to shield you.   Raw, uncovered  duck in a dilemma.  I got some medication and an appointment with mental health services.  My whole family and a large amount of my friends have witnessed my downfall.  It's extremely confronting.  It is a journey and I'm mostly relieved that my 'secret' is out.  It's been a hell of a expedition though and continues to be.  But I am a million times better now than I was at the start.  It is not a journey I wish to repeat for a long time.

I am the same duck I was before, working and going about my life.  I haven't changed but I have sought help that's the only difference.  These issues strike many people, including a lot of people that work in mental health themselves.  Your doctor, teacher, CEO, housewife/husband, musician, your next door neighbour could all be struggling with issues like this.  There is no demographic for mental health problems, they reach across the spectrum of society.  Let's start a dialogue about it, 'normalise' it for people.  So those suffering in silence can feel confident to get help.  It is not a weakness to seek help but rather the oppposite.  It is a brave and bold move and we need to encourage people to take small steps toward it.
I will leave you with the song 'Think you can wait' quoted above by the National.

                                                    Think you can wait

Kia Kaha!

#anxiety #depression #quackers #duck

Guilty Pleasures

  'A guilty pleasure is something, such as a movie, television program, or piece of music,  that one enjoys despite feeling that it is not generally held in high regard.'

               'Something that you love to do, but you just cannot admit that you do it'

                                                                 

Yep, you guessed it. The concept that is getting on my bill lately and making me sigh 'fuck a duck' repeatedly is this notion of guilty pleasures. The whole idea insinuates that something we enjoy should be a thing of embarrassment. Something to be ashamed of, apologetic about and generally kept hidden under the algae-laden recesses of the pond.

Duck that for a joke! The Duck will never, ever be on trial for the stuff she likes. Get stuffed ye who would think otherwise. I love what I love sans guilt and without answering to anyone. Well that is at least the way I feel about it anyway and try to actively practice. Why should we feel guilty? By subscribing to this sentiment we need to consider what are we saying about  those who vigorously enjoy it guilt free? We are judging them, reading them the duck bill of rights and condemning their pleasure as shameful. The shame should be on us if we indulge in this concept. We are little more than castigating and belittling people for things they enjoy whilst satiating our same pleasure in secret. For example the Duck doesn't like the music of James CBlunt, nothing against the guy (in fact I quite like what I have seen of him as a person) but his music doesn't really lull my lily pad or ruffle my feathers. My webbed feet don't start tapping to the sounds 'O' Blunt. In fact, on hearing it, I want to take a very BLUNT instrument to the source...you get the picture. However, if I did like his music I would stand strongly and firmly by my conviction and source of joy.

I want to cast aside labels and and stamp wholeheartedly on boxes that bid to enclose us!  Unlike a box of birds (to be cheerful and happy) a boxed Duck, well... it sends a mortal shiver down my spine!
Surely what makes us special and unique are our differences not our ability to fit a mould?  This quacks very much of social norms whereby our behaviour, dress, music taste etc is dictated by pledging our allegiance to a particular group. People then behave like sheep, veiling their true feeling to fit into some preconceived perception of what they should or should not like.    I love it when stereotypes are mashed up and turned on their beak.  When we cannot contain someone in the parameters of a box.  The truck driver with penchant for opera, the Granny with a weed habit, the heavy metal Duck!  I love the uniqueness of others and particularly people that shock and jolt you out of any judgy attempt to box and stamp!

To illustrate my example I recently took my car in to get a new tyre.  The Tyre Man phoned to say the duckmobile was ready to collect.  He asked me over the phone 'what is track 9 on the CD playing?' The CD was a homemade compilation and I tried to think but couldn't give him an answer.  Upon returning to the land of rubber ducks  I hopped into the car eagerly anticipating this track 9 business. Well bowl me over with a tyre.  The Duck was pleasantly surprised.   What I am trying to say was that here was this burly kiwi mechanic Tyre Man liking this unusual indie band. Tyre Man then took note of the band on his notepad. Love it!  The track is 'Baby' by Warpaint, linked below:

                                       
                                                             Baby-Warpaint


There may be a myriad of reasons behind why we like a certain thing. A happy memory, a time in your life. Maybe you feel alive or your object of joy transports you somewhere else.  We should never have to justify it or call it guilty!  No skulking around in the shadows of the reeds surreptitiously surrendering to our sinful pleasure.  Put it out there, I dare you!  Get all your guilty ducks in a row and give the Toby tall to those who may scoff! Choke on that you goosey goober, you big bloody chicken!


Guilt can serve as a useful tool to bring us back to our own moral compass. But guilt about pleasures is just a wasting of ducking time if you ask me!

#guiltypleasures #notguilty

Duck hunting with a capital C!

                                                                           

                                                                             

Recently I was attacked by a dog. Yes indeed you heard it right here, a dog took to the Duck.  I was trying to protect my son, who has long had a fear of dogs, by Duck-plucking him out of a tricky corner.  The dog leapt up, pawed baby Duck out of my motherly grip then threw me to the ground with its fangs firmly clenched in my duck-like arm.  Long story made medium....baby Duck was freaking out.  Mutha Ducka had to remain calm so as to not fucking further incite fear into one already up to his ears in panic. There is a history and reason for his fear which involves being rumbled (in a most amorous way) by a very tall dog when he was just a two year old duckling.  In one fell swoop I realise that any past attempts to banish a fear of dogs in baby Duck are now redundant!  Gone burger, into the ether, vanished, wasted.  All those hours spent coaxing and cajoling him toward the dog have now gone up in canine-infused smoke!  Doggone.  Prior to this monumental pawing incident I used to get annoyed with dog owners who, when their dog was unleashed, would proclaim 'he won't hurt you'  'she's really a gentle dog' and suchlike upon seeing baby duck wide berthing.   The brazen way they would 'assume' our story would get my goat big time!  Now, however, I anticipate my goat will be of mountainous proportions.  An Everest goat, wild and untamed.  Gargantuan goatarama.

I get so fucked off with dog owners being so defensive.  I am sure your dog is harmless, I haven't even opened my beak and quacked.  Yes your dog is off its lead, yes baby Duck is scared.  But stop!  Don't try to presume you know our story.  It fucked me off in the past and it's going to piss me right off in the future to encounter this kind of response.  There may be a myriad of reasons why someone is wary of a dog.  I would much rather you said something along the lines of  'I am so sorry I have my dog off its lead, I know fucking damn well it's supposed to be restrained  I can see the duckling is distressed by this.  I hope we didn't further consolidate a fear in the young feathered one'.  SAID NO dog owner EVER!!!!!  I am currently working on a response for subsequent encounters.

 Don't get me wrong, I do like dogs, possibly in the past would even have ventured to say that I love dogs.  I grew up with the most gorgeous golden Labrador called Sandy who I loved unconditionally and never, ever feared.  My brother had a very lively black Labrador later down the track who was almost one of the family.  Even baby Duck, when less than 1 years old, would reach out to Nero and stroke him.  This was pre-rumble days.

I was in Auckland recently visiting a friend with the very topically applicable nickname 'Scooby Doo'.  The Dog and the Duck.  We walked along the waterfront discussing dog fears.  I was mindful of my reaction to the many dogs we passed, both the four legged and two legged variety :-).  What illuminated itself to me in the brief brush with these dogs was that, around half of them, elicited a strong visual of teeth.  Someone unscathed would see a dog but I saw teeth!  Gnashing big fangs with drool dripping down and the upper lip (is that what it's called on a dog?) resting on the top of the gums so there's no mistaking the incisors!

Yep, just what I need is another fear to add to my already exhaustive list!  I'm hoping I will return to the former Duck someday, friend of the dog.  Bygone duck doggone.

I also became aware of a subtle change this dog-on-duck drama brought about.  For a significant time after the canine invasion I was aware of a kind of flatness of feeling.  The Duck was not motivated in the slightest toward anything.  A form of flat lining really.  Post traumatic duck disorder.  Almost as if all your energy has been expended on just getting through the ordeal that suddenly you find you have nothing left to feel.  Neither up nor down just flat.  The emotional equivalent of sitting on the fence!  Neither pond half full nor empty.  You get the picture.  Fuck a duck!
Almost as if to make up for my (short-lived) flatness came dreams so vivid and lucid at night that I struggled to separate them from the reality of the day.  It was as if the bite of the dog unleashed some historical toxins and in doing so freed unresolved issues to play out in my dreams.  So by day I was Duck without a bone and by night a Duck with the most monumental bone of contention for some misdemeanor of days gone by.
So in some ways I am grateful for the episode with the dog.  In its wake it released a lot of negative things from the past and made me a little less fearless (of other things).  When the plane I was travelling to Auckland on experienced some turbulence I didn't have my dog bog standard response of minor panic and clutching/tightening of seat belt.  Nor sirree, the Duck felt free from fear and unease surrendering to the notion that some things are out of our control.  We don't know what's coming next and from where it cometh.  I certainly didn't wake up on that doggone day with any notion or suggestion of what was to happen.  Such is life.  We don't know what may lie around that corner. By my way of thinking it is just as well.

Just as every dog has its day...so shall every Duck!

#dogattack #motherlove #dogowners
                                                                               
                                                                         

Dislocated Duck

Lately I have been all at sea!  As you can imagine, the sea is no place for a duck.  A duck belongs in a pond not in the tremendous ocean with severe swells.  I cannot explain the cause of this dislocation but I can attempt to describe the effects
It is akin to the sensation of having freshly arrived in a foreign country a little green around the gills. A foreign country where you don’t quack the language and you don’t know a single feathered soul.  You have no firm plans or any accommodation, pond or otherwise, arranged and to top it all off no one knows you are there! There is a kind of an adrenaline laced edginess to this scenario, a buzzing tinge of excitement and a large measure of adventure. Maybe you experience a physiological manifestation too in the form of a rapid heart rate and just a bead of sweat forming on the forehead and palms. Feathers aglow with the perspiration of trepidation.  Perhaps this is a protective measure to keep you on your webbed feet, to alert you that you are out of your comfort zone and therefore must be more vigilant.  But if you are travelling then you know the edgy vibe will soon give way to a form of heightened excitement and anticipation.  An eagerness to explore, absorb and immerse yourself in this new country and its culture.

 What happens when you experience this without being in a foreign country?  When you are in a small town or city in the country you live in, the country you were born and grew up in?  When you are with people you have known for many years, some of whom you call family?  What happens then? What do you do when this, otherwise, foreign feeling hits you like a freight train in the midst of faces you know like the back of your webbed hand and a setting you are well and truly accustomed to? In the case of the duck you feel a soaring sense of unease, a kind of sickening notion of doom and a vice like grip to your very core! It has seemingly come out of nowhere, blindsided you leaving you barely able to quack. The dislocated Duck is in the height of discomfort and panic.  Not being able to understand the origin of this fucking awful feeling yet wanting it banished forthwith!  Urgently, promptly, abruptly to evaporate leaving no trace.  Yet there is a trace, a formation of saliva gathering in your duck bill, a brisking heart rate and that ever mounting sense of panic.

                                                                 

This sense of dislocation suggests to me that we are ultimately alone in this life.  We have episodes of connection with others and lifetime lasting relationships with a few people.  It  reminds me of a line from the, ever so slightly, cheesy song ' I know him so well'  'No-one in your life is with you constantly, No-one is completely on your side'  Accepting that this is true, that at times in your life you will feel completely alone means you don't need to feel so scared.  Recognising this sensation, going with it rather than resisting it and riding the wave out can be a useful strategy.  Of course I will be the first to admit this is easier said than done.  When you can't see the wood for the trees, the pond for the lily pads just putting one webbed foot in front of the other and moving forward is enough. Sometimes you find yourself out to sea feeling utterly forsaken, the depth of feeling threatening to engulf you with every surge.  You’re in foreign waters where you crave familiar waters.  At times surrounded by people you are beyond accustomed to yet you still feel incredibly alone.  In fact being with people you know and still feeling like this only serves to intensify the perception.  Maybe this is the way of life at times to be all at sea.  Don’t fight it just go with it, tuck your wings in, keep your beak down and wait for the moment to pass.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing and all that....

But for the Duck remains the realisation that alas as we are born alone so we must die!

Is there a silver lining in all this?  Yes,I think there is although it’s hard to see anything but black murky waters while you’re in it.  You know you’re alive that is for sure.  You may also appreciate a return to calm, safe and welcoming waters.  The relief may be palpable.  In my experience there is a kind of residue and lingering feeling after something like this.  An of archive of experience that is neatly tucked in 'the back of my mind for now'.  It resides there among all those other unpleasant episodes, tingeing the here and now ever so slightly.  It can inspire you to cast aside fear and throw yourself beak long into life.  Make your quack heard!

When I was writing this a little boat that was given to me years ago came to mind.  The boat pictured below.  It rings as true to me now as it did when I was given it.  'There is no set path, just follow your heart'.  Be liberated by these experiences, dust off your wings and fly free.


                                                                           

'Neither resent the doldrums, or savour too long the elation'

#dislocation #alone #crazymind