The time of year

I'd got loads of things lined up in my mind to follow up on the blog since my last entry and none of them have sprung into reality. It's just like me. No action. Feel ....well actually I feel very little. Sometimes I feel nothing bar an emptiness and a heavy head.
It's the time of year for me. Some say 'time of the month' ...well it's time of the year with me now. I’ve always loved the autumn, the colours, the changes in avian residents in the area. There's so much to look at, to marvel at and yet……
That's like a but. That 'yet' is actually a 'but' and it's a big but, a blooming enormous but that try as I do, it hits me like a sledgehammer at this time of year. Anniversaries - I hate them. I don't want to think about them but I do. They creep into my subconscious and take over my mind with the gremlins that come creeping out and terrorise my sleep, my dreams, my thoughts and my goodness Jane .....snap out of it! Aye, if only.
It's like when somebody, usually very well meaning, tells a person with depression to 'snap out of it.' How they would if they could. Same with PTSD and the really bad memories. I recognise they exist. I try to knock them back ....sometimes I’ve tried quite spectacularly. I once did a charity abseil from the Forth Rail Bridge to have something good to remember about this time of year instead .....but it wasn't on the day, not on the day he came in his police car and .......yeah, did all that. The only great thing the abseil did was to raise a lot of money for a very good cause and to give me a few minutes of fun as I came down the rope. Getting up there was a different story with my asthma wheezing away and that was much bigger challenge and the irony was that I was abseiling for the Chest,Heart and Stroke Association!
So the things that I used to really like and used to look forward to at this time of year, like the larches turning into their glowing yellows and a soft westerly wind that left an untouched carpet of golden larch needles on the paths and roads in the mornings, now it doesn't have the same integrity that it used to have for me. OK, it's still the natural world. I adore the natural world, I live for the natural world, I write about the natural world, I used to paint the natural world but .... There I go again. The larch trees that were across the valley from my old house were the last thing I saw before I lost the fight against him.
In recent weeks I’m having such trouble just to get up, to get myself to bed at a decent hour, to not have firework displays of flashbacks, to not have nightmares …..to feel/to be 'normal.' My short-term memory and my speech have also hiccupped with the tiredness and stress. It’s just not working for me again this year. “Maybe one year,” I promise myself. Maybe one year it won’t feel as bad. “Aye, when that bastard’s dead,” said one person last week and one who knew him too.
So now I need to really try and take a grip, be strong, be extra firm with myself. I managed the other day when the rain lashed down like it had forgotten how to stop yet again and the rivers rose at speed, pushed at their banks and found places to break out across the green ground and onto the roads. When neighbours looked like their houses would be imminently deluged with cold brown water and when it became mad to even think of using the road where I live as it was under so much water ….somehow that was different because it wasn’t about me, or about that dreadful day he came. It was different because I felt I needed to get on and do something for somebody else. It’s back to me doing things for others. Not that it was much. Only offering shelter and warmth if they wanted or if they flooded, moral support, saying I cared, that I thought of them, that I wanted to help. I find that bit weird. I’d think of helping anybody (bar one ex-convict) and yet I can’t help myself when I hit the roller coaster downers that take me to the black pits. There was an irony that the floods came on the same day as the day he …., the day I got a letter through the door for the latest appeal for the RNLI to support the volunteers who go out in all weathers. Good people who volunteer to save others.
So now it’s time to try and hold on to reality. The reality of what I’m trying to achieve. The reality of living, the reality of still caring about others in the world because all the decent people matter. People have right to matter because they’re good people who don’t hurt others and so yes, of course they matter. People have a right to be respected and to be cared about as much as any reasonable person does. People have a right to be safe and not to become a victim of any crime. Heaven forbid if they do, they have a right to a justice that means justice from beginning to end of the process and afterwards when the perpetrator is released.
So now I’ll really try harder again. The anniversary of his heinous deeds of that day is over for this year. The larch trees near my new home are beautifully swathed in yellows, ochres and gold, the geese have flown over heading south for better feeding grounds and even though my memories don’t fade, the flashbacks don’t stop, the nightmares don’t leave me much night time peace I know that I must keep chasing my dreams of change; changes that will make a difference.
One man ….and I wonder how many more of his victims find this very same problem at their 'time of year?' I imagine there are many. Would you trust a policeman? Me? It's unlikely I'll ever really truly trust anybody again. BUT I know that’s so unfair on the majority who are good, who do a hard job in difficult and challenging circumstances. One rotten apple was all it took …… just one apple that was rotten to the core ……and good men who either didn’t know or good men who did nothing.
Yes, it has to be time for action and time for change.