Riggindale

The last few days were physically meh. Sat at a desk, with lunch in the room. Soul most definitely not fed. 
But they were also emotionally draining. Today was only ever going to involve a wander in the hills, some pausing, pondering and giving thanks. 

I think many of you reading know my immediate history, and I was concerned it might dominate a mental health first aid course where elements of disclosure are not just likely but encouraged. But all of us have our own tales to tell, all equally as valid, all hard to hear, all reinforcing why such a course is necessary in today's society.

The (ex) paramedic with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Not from being stabbed three times by a substance abuser, but for being hung out to dry by her bosses for using "excessive force" as she fought for her life.
The lady who got called a fat cow in the street and went home and cut her arms repeatedly to block it out. Those were the same words her husband used when he beat her every day for a decade. 
The candidate tasked (at random) to give a talk on suicide - who then put up three pictures of close friends and family lost in the last decade. One, such a seemingly happy young lad, smiling into the camera, arms around his mates. Gone less than a day later.

If we can't talk about these things then they fester, they become the silent killer. I can't think of any other condition that kills at least one person every 90 minutes in the UK that is so hidden, so hard to raise a discussion on. Everyone should know its OK to not be OK, but it's both the hardest and easiest thing in the world to ask someone.

Philosophy Friday 
Dont just survive. Thrive.