I Hate July

I think it's something to do with July being my birthday month but this time of year always gets to me. It makes me miserable, looking back on the last year and seeing how little I've accomplished and how little has changed for the better. In 2015 it's even worse. The last twelve months have arguably been the most difficult of my life - and that's saying something.

It makes me laugh that at the end of June 2014 I wrote a post entitled 'Pick Yourself Up...', utilising a little Fred and Ginger to convince myself things were going to get better. They didn't. That was the first in a series of posts where I tried to force myself to look on that so-called 'bright side' (see also 'Taking Stock' and 'Escaping the Reeds') and, honestly, it hasn't worked.

In past years, I've tried to force myself over the bump in the road by planning ahead. There were things to be done, things that I felt confident of being able to do. For the most part, it's the second aspect of that holding me up now. Literally the only thing I have confidence in at the moment is my writing ability and if that takes a knock who knows where I'll be? But so I can write - so what? That makes no difference to anything, it changes nothing. The things I can't do are weighing down the scales on the other side and I'm not making enough headway with my writing to keep me afloat. So...what? Well, I don't know.

July's symptomatic of the wider picture, it just brings it into focus. In the twelve months since my last birthday I've ostensibly achieved some things but, arguably, I'm a more pathetic specimen of a human being than I was this time last year. There's no changing that.

As I sit here writing Judy has piped up on the iPod with 'It Never Was You'. It's such a mournful song, full of lost hope. It feels apt but, then again, Judy always does. In lieu of any positive conclusion to this post, any lightning strike of inspiration or happiness, any miraculous reduction of my anxiety, I'll leave you with her...