Posts Tagged With: personality disorder

My 200th post. The Hawthorn Tree

I know I posted this a couple of days ago, but I’m going to be sneaky and link this to the Weekly Photo Challenge for the topic of Spring! I think it fits quite nicely, and besides, we all need a bit of hope, so the more viewers the merrier 🙂

 

OK … 200 posts in in 26 months isn’t the most prolific blogging record, although considering the nightmare my life has been and the fact I did leave the scene for over a year, it’s not a bad achievement. So figured I’d better make it a decent post, as I may not make it to another hundred.

I wrote the following tale a couple of years ago, in a creative writing class, for our local MIND newsletter, and I’ve read it out loud a couple of times at our WRAP (Wellness Recovery Action Plan) group.

I noticed, when I was out on one of my little walks in the countryside, that the hedgerow branches in the shadows weren’t blooming as vigorously as the ones in the sunshine, and it got me thinking …

Feel free to share this with someone you feel may be losing hope in the cards life is dealing. I know I do on many occasions, and we all need to dig deep to find our own inner strength at times.

Peace.

THE HAWTHORN TREE – A Tale of Hope

 

SONY DSC

 

Near a pond, near a wood, stood a hawthorn tree. It was very tall and very grand, and it would have been considered a very Majestic hawthorn tree had there not been a small problem.

 

After winter was over and the ice had thawed, the tree began to grow shoots along its branches, and the shoots began to sprout leaves. As the days became warmer, the tree began to grow flower buds; hundreds and hundreds of clusters of little white flower buds tightly curled into balls. The buds waited patiently to open into pretty hawthorn blossoms. They needed plenty of sun to warm them and encourage them to open up and say hello to the world.

 

As the days grew longer and the winter clouds began to dissolve away, the hawthorn tree prepared itself to burst into blossom. The buds became plumper and their stalks grew longer, lifting them away from the leaves so that they could capture as much of the sun as they could when it passed by.

 

When the time came that the sun was warm and bright enough, the buds readied themselves to open up and blossom. They stretched their stems and followed the bright, golden orb as it made its way across the sky. But even though the day was long and the sun’s journey took it from one edge of the sky to the other, some of the buds could not see the sun. Some of the branches were facing the other way. The tree called out to the sun and asked it to send light and warmth to the other branches, but the sun said it was bound to travel along the same route every day and had no way to reach them. Even as it tried to send the warmest, brightest light to all parts of the tree, some of the branches would always remain in the shade, and the buds were never touched by the sun’s rays of life.

 

This continued for many years, and the tree continued to grow taller and wider and stronger. But it could never be a Majestic hawthorn tree, because there would always be a side of it that remained dark green; where the bees never visited and the insects and birds never made their homes. As spring brought warmer days, the sunny side of the hawthorn tree burst into glorious white blossoms, filling the air with heady perfumes and bringing the bees and the birds to its branches. But on the shady side of the tree, the buds remained tightly closed and were filled with sadness. They longed to be able to flourish and dance like the other blossoms, but they knew they were disadvantaged. They didn’t have the same opportunities as the blossoms on the sunny side, and they could not see how it was possible to grow when they never received any warmth or light from the sun. It had always been this way since the tree was a sapling, and they resigned themselves to believe it would always be this way in the future.

 

“We are doomed to stay closed,” one bud cried.

“Never to be pollinated,” wailed another.

“Never to be nested!” another called.

“Never to bloom,” sighed another.

“We may as well die,” whispered a fifth.

 

More buds joined the lament, until the shady side of the hawthorn tree was mourning with misery and defeat.

“Nonsense!”

A voice piped up from the middle of the shady side and stopped the wailing in its tracks.

“Our side of the tree may be dark, and it may be cold and gloomy … but we did not become buds just to give up now!”

A young bud stretched its stem as the others looked on. The bud continued:

“Will you wallow in your own misery forever? You think because we live in the shade we cannot find our own light.  We may not have such an easy, warm and bright life as those on the other side of the tree, but surely, that should make us stronger! I know we can still find a way to bloom. It will just need a little more effort. We have our nutrition and we have our health, and if we try a little harder and believe in ourselves, we can blossom too! The bees will visit us and the birds will nest. We are young and strong, and I, for one, am not ready to give up yet.”

With that, in spite of the darkness and in spite of the lack of warmth, the bud pushed and pushed and pushed until … pop!  It burst open to reveal the most beautiful blossom on the tree.

The other buds on the shady side cheered his success and, from him, gained a new determination to succeed, even in the shade. They pushed and pushed, and even when it all seemed too difficult, they willed each other on to push again. Soon the shady side of the hawthorn tree was full of blossoms, spreading their heady aroma across the pond and through the woods.

The hawthorn tree was very proud. It began fluffing up its leaves, shaking its blossoms, and stretching its branches higher for the world to see. Bees and birds and insects of all species came to visit from miles around to pollinate and make their homes there. The tree no longer had a patch of dark green where blossoms should have been. It was draped in the most marvellous cloak of white flowers on every branch and every side.

It truly was a Majestic hawthorn tree.

SONY DSC

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2014]

 

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Categories: Alice's world | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Predictable unpredictability

A Canvas of the Minds has, for the past couple of years been leading the call for the destigmatising of Mental Health issues and asking members of the blogging world to open the platform for discussion within their own forums. I did initially create “Alice Through the Macro Lens” as an outlet to try to make some sense out of my own journey through the murky fog that has been my world for many years, and more prominently to understand how my behaviours affect those closest to me. So it was a little ironic that, when things became really tough, the blog became dormant.
But I have returned with a renewed determination to continue my writing, along with the photos, and I will take the pledge asked for by the Canvas group:

“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”

"The rain to the wind said, You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged--though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.”  Robert Frost

“The rain to the wind said,
You push and I’ll pelt.’
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged–though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.”
Robert Frost

(click on the picture for a better look)

Predictable Unpredictability:

And just when I thought it was safe to re-enter the social arena with some semblance of functionality…

it happened again.

This morning, despite a terrible night’s unrest, I woke up feeling quite positive. I did the normal things people do to start their day off: Got out of bed (trust me, that’s not always an activity that comes easily!), got dressed, ate some cold, home-made rice pudding left over from last night, brushed teeth and hair, and even remembered to take the dog over the road and threw a ball for her for a while. Then I caught the bus into town and met up with a tutor at the local college who gave me a guided tour around the Art Department. The idea of spending my days creating art on a serious scale set me buzzing so much that I happily filled out the application forms to attend during the next school year.

Life felt good, and I admit a little part of me let myself believe that I was cured. I mean, I had finally managed to secure a couple of appointments with the psych (after a nine-month fight to see one). He prescribed me a new medication, and it’s now about that time when “those kind” of meds are supposed to start kicking in.
On top of that, I’d had a productive weekend. On Saturday morning, I’d attended a workshop called the “Totality of Possibilities,” and I’ve been looking into the mirror and sending myself positive affirmations ever since. Then I tried a “Life Drawing” class for the first time ever on Saturday afternoon and discovered I’m not that bad at charcoaling naked people either.
Even on Sunday, I managed to stay cogent enough to tell half of my life story to the Court-appointed psych, who has been assigned the hefty task of furnishing a legally binding opinion about what he believes went wrong with my son and me for the family court judge next month.

But today, around lunchtime, within minutes of arriving at one of my “safer” places to visit – a drop-in community centre that I have started to attend when I just feel the need to have a cuppa, or chat, or to crochet a flower or something – my mood, without warning, dropped like a lead balloon. All of a sudden, there was no talking to me, no reasoning with me; no niceties or pleasantries could talk me round. My head became full of white noise, and I hated everyone and everything. Most of all I hated me and my life. Within the space of minutes (if not seconds), the proverbial fan was bombarded with the proverbial s–t, and I plummeted into the doldrums of irritability and blubberingness once more.

For what it’s worth, the worst thing about these ever-increasing, ever more serious episodes of unpredictable moodiness is the fact that I am sorely aware that they are happening, as they are happening – and that they are wrong – yet I feel powerless to prevent them. The best I can settle for is that, in my consciousness, I am still able to fight the searing impulses that tell me to hurl across the room any inanimate object that isn’t glued to the floor, or to take a nosedive through the nearest shop window. Instead, today, I managed (just!) to grab my coat and leave the premises without insulting anybody, before catching the bus home and falling apart as soon as I made it inside the front door.

I don’t suppose any of this bodes well for appealing my sanity. And yet there’s almost something safe, consistent maybe, in the knowledge that my unpredictability is a predictable occurrence in my life.

But don’t worry, the irony is not lost on me either.

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2014]

Categories: Alice's world | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

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