I’ve been away lately (not geographically, but emotional and mentally) and for the first time in my life, I feel as though I’ve hit rock bottom. I’ve had a lot of personal, emotional and work related issues to content with recently and I’m ashamed to say I haven’t been handling them well on a day to day basis. It wasn’t until I was struggling to pick up a book and read that I even noticed just how bad things had become for myself (I’ve always been one of those people who read for pleasure, for their sanity, and for the love of the written word – so much so that when I’m upset and sad, I head to my closest book store to buy one or more new books and it’s never let me down until now). But in the last couple of weeks I’ve found myself buying more and more new books (not hard considering the overwhelming variety of new releases coming out each month) and adding them to a TBR (to be read) pile along side my bed. Steadily and more quickly then I would have liked, my pile has grown out of control and I noticed the week before last that I hadn’t read a single one of them. In fact, in weeks I hadn’t really made it through a book. Which is odd considering I read at least two a week, sometimes more.
Having forced myself to confront some of my inner demons, and acknowledge the slippery emotional slope I am on, I set myself the task of reading books again. From cover to cover. With the hope that once I had read at least one again, I might soon find myself hooked and reading in my usual pace. I picked up a few and were unsuccessful at first. Not because the books were lacking or boring, far from it in fact, but because I just couldn’t read them. I wasn’t in the right head space, the right emotional space to read anything other than perhaps my cereal packet. Sometimes not even that. I was waking up in a panic of what the day would bring, and dreading the decision to get out of bed, only to wish to return to it all day. I wasn’t watching TV – not that I watch a lot of it in the first place – I wasn’t reading, I was barely existing. I found myself breaking down in tears more than once for no apparent reason. I’ve been falling apart and too oblivious to notice.
All of that is about to change this week though. For over the last week I picked up not one but five books and finished every single one of them. I’ve started to pick myself back up and put myself together in ways only I can and I want to tell you that I’m back. Or at least, that I’m coming back now. I’ve started the journey to being myself again and although it’s been hard and full of disturbingly hard truths, I am prepared to see it though. I’m determined to read more and catch up on the million of reviews I haven’t posted yet. I’m keeping this blog alive because it makes me happy, because I want to share the joy that books brings to my life. And because I truly believe in the power of the imagination and the written word more than I can express. Books, in particular G.J Walker Smith’s THE WISHES SERIES, has brought my back to where I feel that I need to be.
Why am I telling you this? To be honest I have no clue. I originally sat down to write a nice Christmas inspired piece titled “And So The Silly Season Begins…” but what came out was this instead. I’ve ummed and ahhed about positing it for a while. But decided against my better judgement to post it for the simply reason that this is the only explanation I can honestly give about while I have been distant, and the sheer lack of updates.