“But I wanted to share what’s been happening with me anyway, if only perhaps for the one person out there reading this who really needed to hear it. I hope that, at least in some small way, it might help, even if just to show that you’re not alone. None of us are.”
Lynette Noni writes. And is no different to you or I. Yet this post is humbling and crushingly honest. Not a “writer” writing at all. Just one person sharing with another. Me. You.
Because take out the specifics and this is me or you. One person. Not alone. Never alone.
“I hope that, at least in some small way, it might help.”
(as always comments are disabled here, please pop across to Lynette’s place and see her conversations, thank you)
I don’t normally like to post things like this on here since I try to keep everything all bubbly and upbeat… But I’ve been really challenged by something and feel like I need to have a bit of a sharing moment here. So here goes.
Most of you reading this won’t know this, especially if you’ve met my crazy, quirky, friendly self in real life at one bookish event or another, but nearly five years ago I was diagnosed with PTSD that spiralled very quickly into a panic/anxiety disorder. I honestly can’t recall what happened in those first six months afterwards, a time I now refer to as a “black hole” of my life. I still functioned – I went to work, I went to church, I was around people and to all outside appearances, seemed fine. But no joke, I remember times when I’d be standing in front of someone and they’d be talking to…
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