Yes yes, OK, I’m eating my words…

Yes, all right, it’s another post, big whoop. Anyway. I’ve been convinced it’s entirely possible for a techno-retard to set up an internet forum and the forum website actually looks like it might not sabotage this computer if I did. It would be like conversation without having to have anyone’s posts spark the conversation off! Yes! See the exclamatory enthusiasm here?! (I really hate double-punctuated sentences like that one!)

Erm. Anyway (again). So, anyone up for it? All are welcome…

Edit: I’m lazy competition time, then: what do we call it? I have no decent ideas whatsoever; the quote for my blog title took all the title-related creativity out of me…

Confessions of a failed Mad Pride-er

There are two things I didn’t realise weren’t common knowledge. The first, that it’s me in my avatar, isn’t particularly special. It’s only a shadow, after all. But the second is either the most important thing of all or the least, depending on how you want to see it. So, OK. I have lied to you about two things. One of them honestly isn’t important – a little bit of track-covering for the sake of any curious acquaintances of mine who might come browsing this way. The other one is the fact that Suzanne isn’t my real name. I thought that if I could make this blog say, very convincingly, that it was my name, then people coming this way who might recognise me would be put off by the conviction with which the world called me another name. Except I’ve realised that’s a pretty stupid plan now, and while I don’t intend to tell anyone my real name (unless you guess it) I think I’d rather people realised I’m not brave/foolhardy/self-confident enough to let a mental health blog out into the world using my own, Google-able name. I don’t want anyone to think I’m someone I’m not. Well – not in that way, at least.

Like Mika, I’ve gone identity mad

Picture for the day: imagine Suzy (your version) sitting way up at the back of a beach staring at the sea, because the sea is filled with black fins of a suspiciously Jaws-like nature and she is not brave or stupid enough to venture further.

Does it matter if you know who a blogger is? I suppose that by knowing their real name, and seeing a photo of them, you can somehow relate them to yourself and they become more real for you, which means you can empathise better. Also maybe it’s a power thing, like in all those myths where knowing someone’s true name means you control them. If you know the blogger’s real name and face, you feel satisfied, because now they are on the same level as you – they are no longer a mystical figure, they are Michael Handcock, cursed with an unfortunately funny name and unfortunately spacious earlobes.

Goodbye, everybody, I’ve go-o-ot to go…

Well, this is it. I’m officially out the country. Seeing as how I’m not sharing my physical holiday snapshots with you (unless they’re human-free and especially catchy) you get some written ones, instead. I’ll stick ‘em at the top of my posts in italics and together, they’ll pretty much represent my trip: full of savage animals and dust. Lovely jubbly!

I have my own scheduled posts waiting in the wings, and I have my lovely guest posters’ scheduled posts waiting also, and while I can’t actually access the internet, seeing as I have no computer, I can read my email from my mobile – isn’t Virgin considerate? This means that while I won’t be able to reply to any comments for about a month, I can still read them. Hannah, if you hijack my posts, I’ll beat you senseless with a stick (no, I won’t. We’ve had some cracking comments parties. Plus I don’t know where you live…).

What else? Oh, right. I’ve taken off first-time comment moderation, so please don’t post nasty stuff about me or do the whole ‘borderline borderline hahaha now you’re away you’re defenceless hahaha you are so borderline’ thing, because it’s tired now. Also, if your comment doesn’t turn up, it’s lost in spam. Keep trying!

I feel like Polonius when whatsisname is off to England. Or like a mother whose kid is off to Newquay after GCSEs (oo-er) and isn’t totally sure what they’ll be getting up to there and isn’t totally sure they want to find out (sex n drugs n rock n roll, if my year’s trip is anything to judge by). Or a plain old mother hen. Which is slightly disturbing, considering my young age and lack of children.

I’m going to miss this blog, I think. I like to write for it and I find it mightily therapeutic. And after spending so long in the company of my family, savage animals, and dust, therapy is probably something I’ll be needing. When I get back I’m going to have some catching up on everybody else’s to do, and a lot of comments to be leaving… so consider yourselves warned.

And that, I guess, is just about it. I wish you all the best of summers!

(And the title is because I have Bohemian Rhapsody stuck in my head. Sorry…)

And so the muteness descends

Today’s been one of those days where it’s all an effort. I think I’m losing my voice and I just feel steam-rollered; speaking is a physical and mental challenge. I went out with my mother and I just wanted to sit and stare blankly out the windshield. She wouldn’t let me so I was monosyllabic. People shouldn’t put up with me but they do, and I don’t know what I’d do if they didn’t. I don’t feel stepped out but I just feel distant. Maybe I’m just tired from Duke of Edinburgh this weekend past. I’m staying up till midnight to fetch the Czech friend from the airport so tomorrow I will be even worse company. By the prom I will be comatose. That empty space inside of me is yawning wider and I don’t have much energy left to hang onto the edges. Soon it will be bye-bye, world, I’m off to the realms of the drastically depersonalised.

 

The sky is blue and the sun is shining and it hasn’t rained since Friday, when I was murdering my feet on hills and rocks, but I feel so down. And over at simpleharmonicmuddle, Chouette is feeling down; and over at colouredmind, Hannah is feeling down; and over at eccedentesiast, Em is feeling down. And whether that’s because they all get depression in various forms or whether it’s because someone somewhere has put something in our water, or whether it’s the weather (God I’m funny), it’s not just me. That seems to be as good a reason as any to blog. It’s not just me anymore.