Do you ever have the itches in your fingers to just write something, anything? The feeling that there are words just bursting under the surface but they don’t seem to want to come together. I worry that if I open the floodgates that it will result in a jumbled mess.Writing has always been a kind of therapy for me. I have journals filled with scribbles, an emptying of my mind. However the last 12 months there has been some kind of block there. I don’t know if it’s anxiety that is stopping me or if it’s a lack of motivation. I don’t know if I am scared to write or too tired to make the effort.
*The following post is an account of my experience with seeking a mental health defense. If you or someone else believes that they have a case of a mental health defense please seek legal advice.*
Every time a person commits a crime that people believe is out of the scope of a mentally well person, the comment sections of news sites are filled with comments about the person ‘getting away with it’ because they are mentally ill. Almost 8 years ago I committed a crime. A crime that is classified as a violent crime. I was mentally unwell, and yet I didn’t ‘get away’ with anything.
Good Friday this year was by far the worst day of my life. I wish that I was exaggerating but I’m not. On Good Friday Paul had a suspected heart attack and had to be revived twice. He wasn’t breathing and he didn’t have a heart beat. Twice.
I’ve been doing a lot of work in therapy this year on interpersonal relationships. This has gotten me thinking a lot too. I have been thinking about the correlation between what we think about ourselves, deep down and how we conduct ourselves and the flow on effect it has to other parts of life.