Category Archives: Telling stories

The Fog on the Window

The glass in the window is foggy. There are bushes and a street somewhere beyond it, evidence of a world beyond the walls that protect us from the elements – torrential rains and unsettling and powerful gusts of wind.

The apartment feels like a bubble. A pleasant bubble, at least. There are tables, beds, a kitchen, food – even a friendly grey cat. But it is still a bubble. Beyond the bubble, the world has vanished. The only proof of its existence is the occasional burst of noise against the glass panes – of bushes thrashing against the window, and in the spaces between the leaves, a faint, circular glow of a street lamp bleeds through on occasion.

The bubble provides quiet time, a sense of peace; granting us the necessary downtime so desperately needed following two animated days of ping-ponging between assorted locations for company functions and meetings. The world beyond is gone away. The bubble is a luxury. No one expects us. Our time is ours.

Rain and wind sweep through Brisbane’s streets, driving pedestrians off the footpath. Need supersedes desire; must – not whimsy. There is an element of the apocalyptic to it. What might be gone in the morning? A macabre thought to have, surely. Would cats still treat the world as their kingdoms if there is little kingdom left to feign a feline reign upon?

The light of the world will slowly return, the fog will clear away, reality will slowly reassemble.

But for now, we have our bubble.

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Filed under Ruminations and Musings, Telling stories

Imagine Differently

You may have noticed that of late my social media feeds have been quite active. It’s not without basis or reason. In part, it feels as though, after nearly four years of – what feels like! – an imprisonment of the soul, that I’ve been, well, let loose. 

“But, Ilya, you left your job nearly two months ago”, you might say. And that’s not incorrect. 

But I’m not yet well. Not yet stable.

I’m presently in therapy, to discuss, analyse, understand, and deal with the all too real and serious trauma brought upon by my last job, as well as lingering, older trauma. To become more self-aware of my own bad habits and behaviours. 

But it is a process. And one that needs riding out as the mind heals itself. I’m not there yet. Some days, the desire to address the ills of the world is strong, to rant and rage at the financial and banking sector, to right all the wrongs I witnessed during my time in the finance world. 

Other days, I want to hide from everything, and everyone, due to being unable to deal with social interactions. 

It’s all part of the self-rejiggering process. Rebuilding. Shaving my beard and hair, getting an earring and a tattoo, it’s all part of that process. 

My close friends – my ‘chosen’ family, as I think of them – know of my past mental health struggles, and my emotionally –  and occasionally physically – abusive upbringing, and how that’s been reflected in past relationships, to say nothing of my current non-relationship with my biological parents.

It’s a peculiar process to go through, healing mentally. It’s difficult to know what to expect some days, and it’s different for everyone that goes through therapy. 

So bear with me. After all, you’ve got to start with ‘A New Hope’ if you want to get to ‘The Return of the Jedi’. 

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Filed under Mental health, Telling stories, Where We Are