One of the things about both being 63 and having an old complex trauma-PTSD from age 9 is that every now and then my mythical Egyptian Minor-Deity, Phil, the Dog, puts on a black coat and becomes the tedious, generic, Black Dog of Depression, and roams about the place and he is a dark critter indeed in that get-up. At the same time, he is so well known to me over the many decades that he has a name...Black Phil. It's amazing that even though all is going pretty damn well, the weather great, the family fine, that Black Phil turns up and I guess it is to be expected after moving house to a very different and new environment, new challenges etc. A big adjustment often smacks of some disorder or syndrome response, naturally enough, and it all takes quite some time, and it is very bleak, to be sure. One of the consolations of having such an intimate knowledge of Black Phil, is that, one day, should I die in Melbourne, in this most liveable of cities, Black Phil will die also. I remain happy to be alive and optimistic, and sometimes funny, and curious, in my own way. Black Phil is a cunt of a dog, but he is deeply acknowledged within, and even respected, and sometimes when acknowledged, and personally respected, he doesn't make such a awful mess of me. "I'm feeling better now" I said. "I'm sorry about that." "Why do you say that?" I asked and Black Phil responded (echoing Austin Powers): "I'm sorry that bug up your arse had to die." Happy New Year Comrades! JAIYO!

One of the things about both being 63 and having an old complex trauma-PTSD from age 9 is that every now and then my mythical Egyptian Minor-Deity, Phil, the Dog, puts on a black coat and becomes the tedious, generic, Black Dog of Depression, and roams about the place and he is a dark critter indeed in that get-up.
At the same time, he is so well known to me over the many decades that he has a name...Black Phil.
It's amazing that even though all is going pretty damn well, the weather great, the family fine, that Black Phil turns up and I guess it is to be expected after moving house to a very different and new environment, new challenges etc. A big adjustment often smacks of some disorder or syndrome response, naturally enough, and it all takes quite some time, and it is very bleak, to be sure.
One of the consolations of having such an intimate knowledge of Black Phil, is that, one day, should I die in Melbourne, in this most liveable of cities, Black Phil will die also.
I remain happy to be alive and optimistic, and sometimes funny, and curious, in my own way.
Black Phil is a cunt of a dog, but he is deeply acknowledged within, and even respected, and sometimes when acknowledged, and personally respected, he doesn't make such a awful mess of me.

"I'm feeling better now" I said.
"I'm sorry about that."
"Why do you say that?" I asked
and Black Phil responded (echoing Austin Powers): "I'm sorry that bug up your arse had to die."

Happy New Year Comrades! JAIYO!