My sore throaty voice place continues to make me sound like I’m having my larynx scraped by tiny oesophageal dredgers, all made of razors and thorn. Allegedly this means I am emitting sexy sounds. Personally I think I couldn’t be less sexy if I were to shout “Some animals give me a boner!” as the ball drops on NYE.
Yet my vocal impediment has not prevented me from having another uplifting conversation (one of several that have peppered the week) nor from laying down a commitment to my next great adventure.
The conversation this morning was with my former therapist who called out of the blue to ask if I would consider writing a testimony for her organisation’s website describing my own feelings on going through a process specifically designed at helping those with long term health conditions to better understand the mental health impact of their physical issues. And possibly also take part in a filmed interview with the boss, in the same vein.
The latter is a little more daunting but I think I would be ok with it as long as my health is relatively stable on the day. The writing aspect is obviously something I’m much more comfortable with and it took moments to agree. I’ve benefitted from my experience, this much is self-evident, but my therapist recommended me to her boss because she felt I worked so hard and engaged so well with the process that, given my ability with words, my testimony might inspire others to believe they could benefit too.
More than a mere ego boost, this recognition of my own dedication to my mental health needs as a person with two chronic health conditions is another affirmation that I was right to seek support from my Doctor last year when I felt I was struggling. Therapy has not and never will eradicate the issues that cause me to struggle from time to time but it can help me reach towards the comprehension and acceptance that I know enables me to manage my responses more effectively.
And if I manage my responses effectively I’m more confident in planning adventures such as the one I have just initiated by buying tickets to spend a fortnight in San Francisco in November. It’s a city I’ve wanted to find myself inside since I was a very young man reading Kerouac for the first time. There are other, more important, more personal reasons for going which I may or may not divulge in my blog prior to setting off.
In the meantime I shall be as poor as a church mouse who has remortgaged his cheese for the fifth time. I have an album to complete and a writing project to start planning so I guess it’s back to the more domestic adventure of making meagre means stretch and focusing on creative therapies for the next few months. For which read ‘sitting in my pants eating biscuits and occasionally picking up a guitar’ if you like.