Dear Readers In my last blog I mentioned a project I was part of. Important and exciting work. “Real People Share their Recovery Stories.” We gathered stories from across the land told by people who accessed addiction services for support to make changes in their lives. The purpose of the publication was to make recovery […]
Dear Readers I have returned. It has been a while. In my absence, much has happened. Mark Twain is attributed to having said something along the lines of “I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, most of which have never happened”. Whether MT said it or not is in dispute. […]
Fast Forward: As I passively manipulated my way between here and there, I continued to pour swallow, smoke, snort and shoot mood altering substances into my body. It got so I was using to feel ‘normal.’ And by that time I couldn’t stop. I felt like shit and was terrified if I didn’t have the drugs I would feel even shittier. Divorced from my self (and two husbands along the way) I rationalised the use of the people and the behaviours that go with the territory of addiction. Cast adrift, I was a ‘floating head’.
I’ve been thinking about signs of ageing? You know. The seven signs. Women’s magazines often have sponsored articles about SSOA’s and how to combat them. I saw a product the other day that promised to reduce the effects of ageing at a nuclear level. FFS!!! I’m wondering though, are they all visible on the outside […]
“Like everyone, I’ve had a huge lifelong package of fear and self-doubt that was always waiting to claim me, which I have tried rather successfully to keep contained, but now there seems to be a leak in the vessel.” […]
What has all this to do with ageing, I hear you ask? Well,the shaming of the ‘the baby boomers’ is upon us. Articles are appearing along the lines of, and I am paraphrasing here, ‘There won’t be enough left because a silver tsunami of unmanageable old people; recipients of all that free education and that plentiful employment; hanging onto jobs, spending the inheritance (in my neck of the woods anyway) on Harley Davidson’s and Deadly Pony handbags, as we gleefully await Winnie’s Golden Ticket, so we can sit on our arses on the Waiheke ferry as we bleed the country dry’
I am not ready to grow grey gracefully, or allow the hairs on my chin and legs to flourish. Not yet. And if you are, then I salute you. Please save me a seat. I’m talking about somewhere in-between the extremes. Buddhist teachers speak of the ‘middle path.’ as a way to tread lightly. This is not to be confused with ‘middle of the road’. I have never wanted to be ‘middle of the road’ and am not about to start now.