A New Day.

(I was in two minds on whether I'd publish this or not. In the end I decided to. This was written up late Sunday evening)

I'm currently writing this on the longest bus journey ever. All Ireland traffic would do that. As long as this journey is,it is exactly that. A journey. We are all on our own specific journeys in life - no matter how arduous or taxing they are,life is a journey and you have to prepare for whatever happens. Being in this seat for I don't know how many hours now has made me lose track of time,and recount my own life up until now. There have been a lot of peaks and a lot of valleys - like anyone would have. But for me,it almost wasn't like that.

I watched the interview with Stephanie Meehan on the Late Late on Friday just gone,and as I watched this brave,articulate lady tell her harrowing tale,I watched on only imagining how hard it was for her to say those things. With this week being World Suicide Prevention Week,I figured I would say what I have found it hard to say and basically kept to myself for a while. I don't have those thoughts now,but before I did. On more than one occasion,too. I had never felt so low,so low to the point I felt what good was I. What purpose was I serving. Sadly I've suffered personal heartache with events that have happened in the past,with a few friends and closer to home. What happened at home really brought things to a halt. It broke my heart. And part of it still has paper covering the cracks. I often spend hours at a time wondering why people just don't talk. And I get very cut up over it all. It hurts. I fill myself with empathy and it can overflow.

I'm writing this,to show people that it's ok to show emotion,to show feeling. No one will ever know it unless you tell them that there could be something wrong. Am I an emotional person? Absolutely. I got bad when Bambi's mother got killed for heavens sake. Overly emotional at times but that's me and it's a part of me and it's a part that won't change. People tend to bottle things up and keep them to themselves and then it can be too late.  I remember all those years ago being offered counselling after my brother died. I didn't want it because I didn't want anyone knowing what was going on in my head. What business was it of theirs,I figured. I know they were only trying to help. Maybe in time,I will talk a bit more extensively. 

For far too long,it has been considered a taboo subject. I've heard all the terms. The "oh we don't talk about that" sorta thing. What hurts me the most is the fact that we don't talk enough. We seem hesitant to show that we are human and not bulletproof. I don't beg much but I implore you,whoever is reading this,that if you are bothered,or concerned with something,talk to someone about it. Help is always there.

Thanks for reading.