A new post for the beginning of summer, having unfortunately missed spring (you can see how this blog has developed if you look back at the dates I posted updates; sometimes it was several times a month, slowly progressing into monthly posts and finally big chunks of not updating it at all. I guess it can be seen as a mirror of my continued struggling existence, stemming from the depression and other ailments I experience). Even now at the moment of writing this, I am beginning to question my motives whether it is wise or correct to continue making the occasional update to my blog. Its not so much an online journal or diary, rather I think it could be more like an expanded status update about my life and what I felt I needed to write, to make clear. I was toying with the idea of turning the blog into a daily journal, describing my emotions and daily activities, but when I decided to give that idea some thought, I quickly realised that I have no social life or any interesting daily activities, so I quickly threw that idea into the recycle bin, hoping that a better idea can be formed from the rubbish. I hope so.
I started reading again. Of an evening, I started to stare at my books piled high against my wall in an unruly fashion; the seven different towers of literature seemed to be imploring me to love them again, to take notice of their unloved state over the past twelve months, to find solace within the pages of history of a different epoch, or find a story about fictional people in fictional settings. So I tidied up my stacks, brushed the cobwebs off and showed my books some love, as well as add to the collection. I find the literature social networking site ‘Good Reads’ (now owned by Amazon) a good place to hang out and review the books I read as well as get recommendations for new books to buy. I have a few reviews over there as well.
The biggest emotional roller coaster ride and upset, apart from loosing my Mother as a teenager and being ditched by my wife, was finding my natural parents. I may have mentioned this to my readers on this blog, or even on twitter once or twice, but I was adopted when I was two years old. I managed to trace my natural Mother about sixteen years ago now, not an easy process and very time consuming too, but I eventually traced her. It was just incredibly emotionally upsetting, letting loose some very complex feelings and emotions. In many ways, what happened to me after I met her a year later was the equivalent of opening a pandoras box, a box that split me spiritually down the middle, a feeling of being torn asunder in an emotional storm that messed with my mind so much. The feelings of finding your natural mother are just too complex to coherently write about I believe; when I look back to the late 1990’s and what happened all those years ago, then it is with great regret that I ever wanted to find her, the Woman who gave birth to me forty two years ago. What happened subsequently was the equivalent of your life ending up in a hijacked and robbed train wreck, and that is a statement directed at everyone involved who messed with my emotional feelings. Do I suggest search for your natural parents if you are adopted? If you have a degree of stability in your life and if you have several months worth of professional counselling, that your relationship with your adopted parents will not suffer as a result, then by all means, satisfy your curiosity. But be warned of the ups and downs and the danger to your emotional feelings. If you are of a sensitive disposition, then I would truthfully not recommend it.
When I was studying Social History and Sociology in Swansea University, we studied a subject about ‘self fulfilling prophecies’. I fail to really remember what it was about (something to do with class and education and that poorer children just believed they wouldn’t succeed), but basically it dealt with the belief that a prediction will come true because you believe it will. For instance, the fear of failure is actually reinforced and will happen because the person who believes it makes it happen from the very fact of believing it in the first instance. This is one lecture and essay I wrote in Swansea that stuck in my mind all my life, because I believed my life would be a failure, I would never succeed in anything I attempted. My life became a travesty and a failure because I think outside people reinforced this belief, this attitude within me. Its hard to explain at times, maybe because I was incredibly sensitive all my life ( but rather less so since the homeless incident in 2008), but I thought it worth mentioning here.
Next week/month/whenever I will try and work on something here that I have been planning for a while, that is some sort of travel blog, or least a post about where I live, which, even though I do not do so much here, I still love the history behind where I live. We have a greatly preserved Norman-built Castle, an Abbey- its ruins lay in testament to the Reformation and great countryside. Thanks for reading!
*Edit – I just noticed that this is my 42nd post on WordPress, and just turned 42 years old three days ago! Happy coincidence.