Its raining again...

Imagine just where this blog would be without song titles and lyrics... it would be title-less. (I have used so many over the months).

What does this tell you about the brain's ability to store useless information for years?
Or is that just my brain?

Winter weather, cold nights snuggled beneath doonas with hot water blankets, warming glasses of evening sherry and slow cooked meals... I do love this season. To me it is also the season when I can become affected by SADS (Seasonal Adjustment Disorder) and sink slowly into a mild form of depression, requiring a trip to the sunshine. Usually this can be as simple as crossing the Great Dividing Range but not this year. The whole north of the state is under water and deluged by floodwater and rain.
So I guess my usual ruminations, navel gazing and melancholy will have to happen down here seaside with the magnifcent crashing wave soundscape each night. What is missing this year is the foggy nights with the sound of the pilot boat's horn responding to the freighters requesting guidance through the heads.

We have not had that many foggy nights despite the recent storms. On many nights the sky remains black with the most mesmerising display of stars, planets and even the occaional meteor. I love the September sky with 'my ' planet, Virgo basking in the reflected glow of the sun, illuminated next to the moon.

I guess at this stage of the year I am disappointed with myself as I did promise to write a mood diary for everyday to chart my illness and wellness. Well the best laid plans have come to nought, as a dear trusted friend suggested that perhaps it was not the most sensible plan of action posting my swings on this very public website. It seems she is concerned that certain people with varying degrees of power over my earning capacity and reputation could misuse my honesty against me.

I detest the fact that one needs to be circumspect, when trying to advocate publically for those of us suffering BMD. We need the world to understand the highs and lows and how we manoevre from illness to wellness and recognise the effort and sense of empowerment we achieve by succeding. Why does a person attempting to be viewed as prfessionally competant still feel compelled to hide a mental illness to ensure against silent discrimination? If I were physically disabled I could not chose to hide it, why should mentally ill be judged differently?

Yet, I know I am judged and found 'wanting' in the professional world, an educated world that should know better. The sooner I can focus on getting my bloody novel out there, and defeat the hurdle of the academic exegesis that is the bug bear of all Creative Writing PhDers, the better.

I have so much to share, but I now live in fear of this disclosure.

So forgive me dear readers for not having posted as regularly as I would have liked. I really do want to have a record of every day living with my condition, a log that shows the painful slow days of rehabiltation through yogs, art therapy, hypnotherapy, excercise and sitting in the sunshine for vitamin D.... yet I cannot write the details for fear that they will ensure I remain trapped on Disability Pension and unemployable.

The pressure on me to succeed this year has been intolerable at times. I feel I owe it to all who are mentally ill, the Government who recognised my academic potential with a stipend, and all my mentors over the years who encouraged me down this path, but above all I owe it to myself.

Yet, I am not one of those A-personality types who can turn all this negative pressure into creative impetus. For me it is disabling. I become ill. I lose trach of intrinisc motivations as all the external judges line up to give their verdicts. No matter how I admire these people's competence and acuity, they can NEVER understand what I live with daily and how just getting out of bed can be an achievement on its own.

This is me... sliding down the scale towards SADS but I don't want the sunshine. I want all our dams and reservoirs at 75+%, not the Thompson below 30%. This might be climae change or it might just be a cycle that is familiar.

I was reminded by the photos of the farmland under water of old 16mm films my Dad took when I was a young child. The images looked the same.

There was also a time when a small timber house literally slid down the hill in MacCrae and sat complete at the foot of the hill with a new Point Nepean Road address! That house is still there all these years later. I have also watched the larger (then) blue coloured house remain pirched up high on the rock face of the cliff and not sucumb. This house has been getting larger and larger in every decade and the most recent extensions seem to have very strong metal anchor 'ropes' into the actual cliff face, to ensure no slippage down towards the main road. I must take a drive and look to see if the newer homes have survived atop the cliff, as even Mt Martha had a mudslide last week and cut the Esplanade for traffic.

I also remember in the early eighties (1984?) when I was working for the State Training Board I remember being diverted off the main highway at Sale and getting quite stressed as the detour seemed to take me closer and closer to flooded roads and paddocks until the Police vehicles indicated I was back on a safe route to Lakes Entrance.

The difference this time around seems to be the ferocity of the winds (not the protracted power black outs which is commo down here) and Portsea front beach's disappearance. I have never seen the need in over fifty years to build a rack wall to stop the erosion before.

Then we have the Christchurch earthquake... not it's first but many decades apart. And after all NZ and Australia are on the Pacific ring of fire, so to be expected that the tectonic plates shift reasonably often.

Mother Nature in all her awesome power does make one's daily tribulations seem minor in comparison. So I must keep my 'chin up' and get contro, again. Life is here for living and enjoying no matter what others people think of you.