What to do if you can’t stop telling yourself that you’re a piece of shit (or if you feel broken inside)

If you think that you’re about to kill yourself in the next few minutes or hours. If you’re about to do that. You’re probably not well. Apparently, healthy people don’t do that kind of thing. I know, right?

You are completely allowed to call an ambulance. There are people at A&E who go through loads of training to help people like us who know we’re pieces of shit. It doesn’t matter if you don’t deserve it. They’ll help you anyway. 999. Do it.

If you can’t face an ambulance, call The Samaritans: 0845 790 9090

And if you can’t do either of those things. It’s okay. I wouldn’t. But it might help you. Try and tell someone.

I’ve been sent a number of messages from people who told me they’d been struggling with mental health problems, or the crushing hopelessness that is life, and either felt let down by the help they’d been offered and received. Or hadn’t tried to get help for fear of not being believed. I’ve fallen into both of those categories. I’m by no means an expert, but I have experienced them. I know it’s piss.

I also have experience navigating the workings of the NHS and the private medical sector because I’ve worked in both of them. My NHS job was literally helping people navigate it so they could get the best care as quickly as possible. Just to be clear, I’m not a clinician or a therapist. But I know how this shit works.

I won’t pretend to know why you feel bad about yourself or what kind of bad you feel or don’t feel. My experiences have differed from others I’ve read or heard about. I’m sure there are similarities with someone, somewhere. Probably. I’m not special. You’re not either.

I’ve spent a lot of time reading about depression while depressed. It’s really easy to dismiss advice about it. Especially if you’re in the middle of a shit-eating depressive episode, feeling entirely consumed by hopelessness and the advice is written by someone who’s all better and has turned into some kind of mad happy-clappy. OH I’M SO HAPPY THAT YOU FEEL AMAZING FUCK OFF AND CHOKE ON YOUR YOGA MAT!

I’m writing this to appeal to your negative side, because I know it’s what I needed to read not so long ago. I can’t have been alone in needing that, because I’m not a special case and you’re probably not either.

Yes. I know my blog is called Lovely Alexander and I have “Be kind, have fun” at the top. But they’re reminders to me. I’m famously lazy and I find life is much easier for me if I’m nice to other people. It makes things so much simpler. It also means I have much more energy left to spend on hating myself. Apparently I need that. And at the very least, it means if I need help, people are more likely to help me. Sometimes I don’t even have to ask. The sweet fools. See? I’m a manipulative piece of shit too.

Continue reading “What to do if you can’t stop telling yourself that you’re a piece of shit (or if you feel broken inside)”


The Legend of Zelda: Breath of The Wild. It’s a bit shit, really.

I haven’t played a Zelda game since Wind Waker in 2002. I bought a Switch in November specifically to play BoTW. I figured it was worth it based on the strength of praise both the game and console were getting. I was excited. I couldn’t wait. When my Switch was delayed by a day, I nearly cried. Skip to the end: I’ve not been more disappointed in a game since… I don’t know. Perhaps, without hyperbole, it’s the most disappointing game I’ve ever played. Goddamn hype trains, man. Love the Switch though.

I kept reading that it was a “revolution in open world game design”. As someone who loves open world games. I couldn’t wait to see what it offered. Instead I’ve found a game full of inconveniences. I think that’s its biggest mistake. It constantly confuses inconvenience with challenge. And so ultimately, it doesn’t respect the player’s time.

That’s not to say it’s a completely dreadful game. For the first couple of hours I was in love. Everything was new and exciting and I was playing Zelda for the first time in years and yeah! But once that worse off, after many more hours of drudgery, I don’t think it’s a good game. Not even close. There’s barely a trace of the game I was told about in the reviews.

Firstly. The controls are bad. They weren’t thought through. There’s far too much opening of the inventory to do things that could have been assigned to buttons ingame.

If you’ve been gaming on a Playstation or Xbox for the past ten years. Get ready to constantly press the wrong button. A and B are reversed on the Switch’s controls when compared to A/X and B/O on Xbox and Playstation respectively. This shouldn’t be a problem. Names aren’t important when function is the same. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case on the Switch. Their typical functions are reversed too. So, get ready to accidentally exit your inventory when you meant to use something. (That you can’t do anything about it is my only real complaint about the actual Switch console. Which I think is bloody great.)

If you want to heal (and you will want to, a lot), or buff yourself. Each time. Inventory. The kind of ingredients and food inventory that quickly fills up with tat that you’ll probably need later. So, you can easily spend thirty seconds at a random point in a fight hurriedly looking through these lists for something to heal yourself with.

Every time your bow breaks, to get a new one out, you must open the inventory. Which quickly discourages use of bows, because they’re not reliable in a fight. You can at least select ingame another melee weapon when one breaks. Either way, both mean you’ll lose track of enemies while you faff around in your inventory.

I don’t mind weapon durability systems. But BoTW’s are too fragile. It’s another thing that ruins the pace of fights. There is the case to be made that it encourages you to try different weapons. But ultimately the weapons you won’t discard will be the ones that do the most damage. Regardless of type. There’s no point getting attached to a weapon you can never repair.

Ubisoft get a lot of flak for incessantly including viewpoints in Assassin’s Creed. Even though, arguably, tall buildings to climb make sense for a series that’s partly about climbing. They were at least made optional in AC Origins by not being essential to progress. Anyway. In BoTW, Nintendo have found a new, exciting way to make them really boring! They’re all the same! Their brown trellises take a good minute or so to climb. Except you have to get off and rest a couple of times during each climb, because Link will run out of stamina.

Sorry, I wasn’t entirely honest there. There are a few differences. Some of the viewpoints have enemies around them. Enemies that can make you lose your grip and fall off when they hit you. So you get to do even more trellis climbing. Yippee! Or the tower that’s surrounded by enemies who can one hit kill you. That was extra fun.

That being said. I like BoTW’s approach to climbing in general. That you can climb most surfaces is pretty fun. I mean, it’s weird for a game that seems to go to great efforts to try and be realistic, that Link is inexplicably Spiderman. But, whatever. Of course, that stamina bar makes it less fun when you just. Can’t. Make. It. To. A. Ledge. And Link lets go. Hi ground!

The same goes for swimming. Which is made all the more inconsistent when you get a piece of armour that lets you swim up towering waterfalls in two seconds flat using none of your limited stamina. But makes no difference to your regular swimming ability. Not quite to shore and out of stamina? Hi riverbed, meet Link’s drowned corpse!

Even the ground isn’t always a reliable place of relative safety from the whims of the game designers. The elements can attack you too. Again, to be fair. I like that body temperature is of importance. You’ll freeze to death in the cold. And the area surrounding the lava-spitting Death Mountain is so hot you’ll catch fire. If you’ve got wooden weapons equipped, they’ll catch fire too and break. Your cloth paraglider doesn’t though.

But for some reason. If you’re in an area where there’s a lightning storm and you have metal gear equipped. Lighting will, without fail, strike you. It doesn’t matter if there are trees or other conductive things that are taller than you. Lightning will strike you. So, it’s back to the inventory you go.

Anyway. Until you’ve got certain armour, you have to rely on elixirs to make Link exposure or heat proof. No big deal? Well let me tell you about BoTW’s cooking.

Firstly, there’s no recipe book. So, you’ve gotta remember them. Or write them down. Unacceptable. If Link can write down a list of quests, he can keep a list of recipes. Inexplicably you can look at the recipe for an item that’s in your inventory. But once it’s gone, you can’t. This isn’t a problem for your basic healing items. You just need some fruit or meat.

It becomes a problem when you need a specific ingredient so you can get a desired effect from an elixir. E.g. Fireproofing yourself. If you have the ingredient in your inventory, great. You can look through all the (eventually) hundreds of ingredients you have. The best way to find it is by reading the description for each ingredient. But if you don’t have that ingredient, you’re screwed. There’s no way of knowing which ingredient you need to make elixir X. Sure, if you know which you need off the top of your head, fine. You can go looking for it. But that’s barricaded behind a dose of backtracking.

Not long after being unleashed on the world, you’re given a camera. You can use the camera to take a picture of literally everything that Link can consume, use or kill. Once you’ve got a picture of it you can scan for it and be directed to a general area on the map where that thing is located.

So. If you don’t have a picture of the ingredient you know you need. You’re left wandering around looking for it. If you don’t have a picture of an ingredient you don’t know that you need. You’re left wandering around looking for …something.

Let’s say you’ve managed to track down your ingredients. You’re ready to cook or brew. This shouldn’t take long now. Find a cooking pot. Open your inventory. Scroll through your inventory. Find the ingredient you want to start with. Press the ‘Hold Item’ button. Select up to five individual ingredients. Selected the wrong one? Start again! You can only put down all of the ingredients in your hands, not specific ones. Exit the inventory. Press ‘Cook’. Wait five seconds while Link dances and the food cooks. It’s cooked. Link holds it up in the air. The game gives you a dialogue telling you what you’ve created. Want more than one dish or elixir? Repeat this process the same number of times as items you require.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Trying to get past the area that’s too hot to pass. Now I’ve gotta run back to that area with my newly created elixir, because you can bet there won’t be a cooking pot by the entrance. The game is full of tangents like this. Most of them are as boringly long winded as the above. Some are obvious, or take a little experimentation.

I went in expecting “a Zelda game”. Beautifully crafted dungeons that give you a piece of gear and teach you how to use it effectively. Building your skills up in layers. All joined together by a metroidvania open world. Yes please. I want that.

What I got was a reasonably good puzzle game, in the form of the 120 shrines (small puzzle rooms) dotted around the world. Held together by a mediocre open world game filled with busywork. BoTW frequently mistakes inconvenience for challenge. And constantly breaks the rules and logic it establishes for its world on its own terms. Not the players.

Gone are the hookshot, masks and instruments of the earlier games. Instead your “skills” are: Something that stops time on certain types of one object for you to clumsily try and change the direction of. A half-arsed Gravity Gun that only works on certain metallic things. Something that lets you make ice platforms on water. Oh, and two differently shaped remote bombs. Which are annoying in their own right. For some reason, Link can aim when he throws a spear, club or sword. But not a bomb.

Worst of all. There’s little instruction with these tools, so even though they’re easy to use. The Shrines in which you get them are over so quickly that there’s no time for the learning about environmental clues that indicate you need a specific tool. This is what made previous Zelda games such a joy to play and discover. Stuff that can be interacted with is fairly obvious in shrines. But out in the world, it often comes down to dumb luck that you actually find what you need to progress.

There’s much more I could say that has left me disappointed and frustrated. And, yes, there are some things that I like about it too. But this is a post about why I was so horrendously disappointed by the latest Zelda game. So, I’ve intentionally left those things out. But there’s nothing I could point to that overcomes the gaping flaws that are what I’ve described above.

Metal Gear Solid V’s freedom of approach. The Witcher 3’s sublime world building. Horizon Zero Dawn’s intense, multi-staged battles. Prey’s detailed environmental storytelling. These are revolutions in open world game design. If Breath of The Wild truly is a revolution in open world game design. It’s a turn in the wrong direction.

The Stupid Irony of Not Believing In Yourself

Right. Definition of irony correct? Check.

Still lacking self belief? Check.

So. Irony. Self belief. Go, Alex!

Oh god. I can’t.


Two weeks later

The thing about having no self belief, is that it’s not just that I think it. It’s that I believe it. It’s all well and good telling me I’m not terrible. But you won’t change my mind. Which sounds self-indulgent. But people have been telling me. Here and there. That I’m not terrible for a while. Or at the least, not stating I am. Which means they probably think it. Probably. Hmm. Maybe not. Shh, you. Anyway. The point is, even though I want to believe them. It doesn’t change my mind.

I will unabashedly state that trying to change my mind about this would be like trying to convince a Christian that there’s no God. Or convince an atheist that there is one. Either or. I don’t care. You get the point I’m making.

That sounds a little hyperbolic, right? I’ll elaborate.


Two more weeks later

Fucksake. I’m gonna focus on comparing this to Christianity. Not because I have anything for or against it in particular. It’s just the religion I know most about. I’m white and English. When I was a child I went to church. I went to a cathedral school. It’s the religion I feel most comfortable beating myself up with. Plus, frankly, I can’t be arsed to go and spend ten or fifteen years immersing myself in another religion just so I can potentially be flippant about it while telling you the myriad ways I dislike myself. I’d probably get it wrong anyway. Oh, and for the record, I’m not really an atheist either. I don’t care if there’s a god or not. I’ll not act differently either way. I guess I’m an apatheist. Or general heathen. If you prefer.

I think I’m getting a little off track here. Fucking hell I’m useless.

Go! Again! Go!

You can do it.

Nuh uh.


Ahem. The point I want to make is not that believing yourself to be worthless is exactly the same as being part of a religion. Because obviously it’s not. There’s no altar of self-flagellation. Or whatever it is one gets flagellated on. Or is there? Is an altar literally where one flagellates? Google is so far away. Whatever.

Anyway. It’s primarily the unwavering belief in something that makes the two alike. And before you get at me, I’m not saying that religious people never have doubts about their faith. Occasionally, even I delude myself into thinking I might be worth something. Pah. I know. Who the bloody hell do I think I am?

It’s the belief in something that I want to draw a comparison to. The belief that I’m incapable of anything. The profound influence it has on everything I do. When I think about this I’m reminded that there are some Christians out there that try to live their lives responding to life events with the phrase “What would Jesus do?“. Figuring out what they think it is Jesus would do. Then doing that thing. Ohhh, is that what that means?! Well, duh.

In my case, I respond to day-to-day things with a phrase of my own. The first part changes depending on the precise situation. But it always ends the same way: “fat waste of space“. I.e. “You can’t do that because you’re a fat waste of space.”

So whenever I try to do something. There’s almost always a variation on me being a fat waste of space that stops me. Sometimes it’s a lack of wings – Oh, to fly. But mostly it’s the first one. Again, I realise this way of thinking seems massively self-indulgent. But, it’s not a random thought. It’s a constant thought dictated by belief. However irrational that might be. And I don’t believe it is irrational. Though you might. Regardless, I need to get off. So here are some recent examples of how my belief has dictated my actions, or lack thereof:

You cannot read that book. You won’t understand it, because you’re a stupid fat waste of space.

You shouldn’t talk to anyone, because you’re a boring fat waste of space.

Don’t apply for that job. You don’t have the right skills because you’re a useless fat waste of space.” (please excuse the tautology)

Don’t apply for that job. You might be able to do it. Barely. But there’ll be someone better and more deserving. Because you are a fat waste of space.

You’ve gained weight. This is a shameful failure. So you’re not allowed to leave the house, or wash, because you’re a disgusting, fat waste of space.

And for what seems like the fifth time. I realise this is self-indulgent. That it seems absurd. That it sounds like a cop-out. If someone told me what I’ve just told you, I’d struggle not to think they were being ridiculous. Mental illness or not. Perhaps all beliefs are ridiculous. I don’t know. More importantly. I don’t know how to unbelieve it.

I have two more things to say. And I’ll let you go.

It would be dishonest of me to not mention that I’ve achieved or succeeded, albeit moderately, at a few things over the years. Do these go someway to prove I’m not a fat waste of space. No. Well, the latter part at least. But I believed this about myself when I succeeded at those things. Achievement changed nothing. I felt no joy from having overcome whatever the particular obstacle was. Even though I expected to fail. In the context of academia I feel like I cheated. I didn’t actually cheat. But I’ve never once felt deserving or pleased about those successes. Do other people just pretend to be happy about their success?

Unsurprisingly I didn’t wake up one day and decide that I’m a fat waste of space and wash my hands of life. It took many years of constant repetition from external sources for me to believe it. But that’s another story. The point of this post is that I believe it and have done for more than half of my thirty years.

And that’s the stupid irony of not believing in yourself. You believe it. Oh isn’t that clever?

I love your armpits. Yes, yours.

Hail Satan.

Cry Out For Help

It’s easy when you’re depressed or upset to think no one cares about you. So easy. Hilariously easy. But making a big ol’ public, self-loathing filled cry for help, like I did yesterday has very quickly changed my mind on the matter. People do care about me. No one was as surprised as me.

I’ve had all sorts of kind words and support passed my way. I feel very lucky. But more importantly, a lot better than I did thirty-six hours ago.

In part, writing about what I was feeling was cathartic in and of itself. It didn’t even cross my mind to not share it to Facebook. That’s what I do with everything I write.

It was the support that followed that really made a difference though.

So if you’re not okay. If you hate yourself. If you feel like no one cares. Use your words and cry out for help.

It doesn’t have to be as intensely specific and self-flagellating as me. Or even anything close to that. But you might just get a surprise. And let’s face it. If you’re pathetic and worthless. Why not make a show of it? You’ll still be as pathetic and worthless if no one cares. So in that context, what have you got to lose?

Also, if you’re reading this. We’re more than likely friends on Facebook. Which means if you post a status asking for help because you’re a piece of shit, I’ll at the very least say hi. I won’t try and convince you that you’re not a piece of shit. But I almost promise, just telling someone that you feel terrible will make you feel a little less terrible.

If that all seems too much. Then this post will tell you what to do if you can’t stop telling yourself you’re a piece of shit.

If we’re not friends on Facebook. Tough shit. You’re missing out. Nah, I kid. I kid. All I ever do is share ClickHole articles anyway. But leave a comment underneath this. I’ll say hi.

If everything I’ve suggested is way too much for you right now. You can always try again tomorrow.

And above all. Always remember: It’s okay to not be okay.

What the Fuck is Wrong With Me?

And here we go again.

After about seven months of being well. Really well. Making steps towards having a normal life. It all came back. Arguably worse than before. And I’ve ruined almost everything I spent time building.

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me anymore. I don’t even know if I’m depressed. I think I might just be evil. I was on a rampage of self-destruction. Not giving a damn about who I’ve hurt along the way.

And now that’s over and I’m feeling more normal, I find myself alone and miserable.

I really don’t know if I can keep fighting. It just comes back. It always does. This time it was such a shock. Because things were going so well.

The person I knew would still be there when I emerged. She couldn’t be anymore. I shut her out and hurt her so much she had to leave. I can’t blame her. No matter how much it hurts. I wish so much she was still here. I miss her so much.

When I say “I shut her out”. I don’t mean in some abstract way. I mean that I didn’t talk to her for ten days and I didn’t tell her I wasn’t coming to something we’d planned to do together on Valentine’s Day. I’m such a fucking arsehole.

I was always very upfront about my mental health problems with her. She knew that extended silences were something I do when depressed. She said it would be hard. But she could handle it. I loved her so much for telling me that. I thought we’d be together forever.

People keep telling me that it’s not my fault. That I can’t blame myself. That it’s my illness. And I see their point. But equally, it’s bullshit. It is my fault. Even though I wasn’t well. I still made those choices. I still chose not to talk to her, or indeed anyone.

I don’t understand the choices that led me here. It’s like a different person takes over, who just thinks of all the ways I could make my life as bad as possible. With no care for the consequences.

So let’s have a little list of all the self destructive behaviour I engaged in throughout February.

  • Ignoring everyone I care about for ten whole days!
  • Cutting myself!
  • Binge eating!
  • Drinking!
  • Going on a massive spending spree and accidentally stealing somewhere in the region of £5000!

Yeah. Not pretty. I’m such a goddamn arsehole. Cuts will heal. Weight can be lost. Sobriety can be achieved. Money can be paid back, albeit slowly.

But I can’t unhurt someone.

I don’t even really care about the other things at the moment. I just want to go back in time and not ignore everyone. Or at least, not ignore her. I hate myself so much for it. I hurt her so much. And now I’ve hurt myself more than I thought possible.

I’ve had breakups before, of course. But they were to some degree mutual. Or the relationship had run its course. Or we were sick of each other. Whereas this. We had no problems. We never argued. We were making plans for a future together. And I destroyed it all by doing nothing.

Even worse is that the way I feel right now. That’s how I made her feel. Alone and miserable. How or why could I do this to someone I love? I don’t understand.

Usually when I’m depressed I feel empty, hopeless and apathetic. I never feel sad. I think until now I’d forgotten what it feels like to feel sad.

I don’t remember the last time I cried before this. And now I cry for what seems like hours every day. Everytime I start to feel a little better. It all comes back and I find myself trapped inside big, panting sobs.

I wrote her a letter last week. There was so much I still wanted to say. There’s still so much. I hoped I’d hear back from her. Even just a text. It’s only been a few days since she’d have got it. She may have even only got it yesterday. But I’m in a constant state of physical anxiety, hoping to hear from her. My palms are sweaty and my heart rate is irregular and fast. I’m terrified that I’ll just be ignored. Or asked to not contact her again.

I don’t know why I do this to myself. I’m so angry. So angry that I let my stupid, stupid fucking goddamn broken brain get away with this bullshit.

I know I’m not the first person to ever experience a breakup. But I’m pretty sure what I’m feeling is exacerbated by the fact that I’m coming out of a depressive episode. That and I have nothing to fill my days with. I guess that’s partly why I’m writing this. Something to do. With the hope that if I write it down, it’ll just fuck off and I can go back to being okay again. That maybe I’ll find the energy to try again.

But why try? What’s the point? It always comes back and ruins everything. I know this with utter certainty now.

No. Shut up, Evil Alex. I have to try. I might be able to fix this. Probably not. But maybe.

Why Do You Even Bother?

It’s a question I ask myself a lot. I don’t know why I bother.

Let’s back up. This isn’t a passive aggressive post directed at someone because I feel underappreciated for a birthday cake I made them. I literally mean, why do you even bother to do anything? Ask yourself that question in the context of something you did today. When you’ve got your answer. Same question to that answer. And so on. Keep going until you come up empty or it stops making sense. But try to make it make sense. That last answer is why you bother to do the thing you did. For some people, I imagine it’ll be a pleasing and satisfying list of reasons to keep on being alive. If you’re like me it’ll be the beginning of another period of existential dread.

Here’s my list and what inspired this post.

Why do you even bother to work out?

To have a higher opinion of my body image because I am not confident enough to regularly leave the house by myself looking the way I do.

Why do you even bother to want to regularly leave the house on your own?

I don’t know. I’m completely fine with having almost no contact with anyone. But I suppose, because I’m supposed to.

Why are you supposed to?

Because I should have a job.

Why should you have a job?

Because I’m 28 and able bodied.

Why are you 28 and able bodied?

Yeah, here’s the point where the questions stop making sense. But you can examine your last answer further. And I guess my conclusion is that I’m only doing anything because I feel I ought to. I don’t know why I feel I ought to though. I claim to not care about anything. Ergh. Why do I even bother?


Psychotherapy 12: See above.

This week my therapist will go by: Oshkoshbegosh

Had a couple of weeks off. I’ve arrived at the last two sessions not being able to remember anything I’ve spoken about. So apparently I need to keep writing this blog. Otherwise I’m not gonna get anywhere. Errrgh. Effort. Fuck. Whatever. I’m back with a vengeance and a revelation. Or at least, a sticking things together in a somewhat coherent way …ation. I’m starting to get a fuller picture of why my mind might be the way it is. I.e.: Terrible.

Continue reading “Psychotherapy 12: See above.”

Psychotherapising 7 and The Time I Called Some Austrian Policemen “Nazi Pig Fuckers”

This week my therapist will go by: Wan Kin

Previously on, The Psychotherapising of Alexander:

  • I don’t really care about anything and not because I think it makes me interesting. I just don’t. I don’t understand why. I suppose I’d like to find out.
  • Sometimes I’m consumed by an irrational rage that ends with me essentially regaining consciousness at the end of a trail of destruction.
  • Usually I can contain the aforementioned rage.

Fade out. Whoooooooosh. Fade in.

Okay. The title of this post is horrendous clickbait. But look. I’m awful. So go fuck yourself. No you’re alright. Please stay. Please.


Continue reading “Psychotherapising 7 and The Time I Called Some Austrian Policemen “Nazi Pig Fuckers””

The Fifth and Sixth Psychotherapising of Alexander: My Person Suit

These weeks my therapist will go by: Jennifer

You’ns who regularly read this blog may have noticed there wasn’t an entry last week. That’s because I went to Suffolk to build my grandmother a new PC. She paid me. I won’t pretend I did it out of the goodness of my own heart. As we all know, I’m a piece of shit.

Anyway, I was a combination of away (0.5%), busy (0.5%) and lazy (99%). That’s why there was nowt. Luckily for you, I made notes of what happened in last week’s session. So today I present a double, back to back special of… you get the idea. It’s two posts in one. It’s 300-ish words extra. Quit while you’re ahead. This is going to get dark and probably tedious.

Continue reading “The Fifth and Sixth Psychotherapising of Alexander: My Person Suit”

Thinking is Hard

Thinking is hard. Right?

Okay, not all thinking. But lots of things are hard to think about. Not necessarily because they’re painful or might lead you to a railway line. But to actually consider and analyse something abstract in your brain. To hold it there and poke at it with other things you know, is difficult. Especially if it’s something you’ve only read about in passing or heard bits of mentioned by someone else. But whatever.

It’s so hard to collate all the things I’ve read over the days, weeks, months and years into something meaningful. Especially specifics. I read a lot. Not much in the way of literature or fiction. But lots of articles about the news or interest pieces. And I remember almost none of it. I know I’ve read several things today. But I can’t remember what any of them were about. I know that I don’t really read fluff either. I’ve no time for gossip. Although I do enjoy a dose of nonsense here and there.
I feel like I understand something while reading it. But then the subject, the details, the concepts. Whatever. They vanish from my mind. As I said before, I can’t bring in things that I already know and filter what I’m reading through that. I’m not sure I actually know anything. Errm.

Sometimes someone will bring up a topic in conversation and I’ll remember that I once read an article that is somehow relevant, but I remember nothing about it; “I sure can confirm that what you’re talking about is something someone else has written about and I’ve read about. Aaand that’s all I’ve got to say about that. Bravo!
That’s how a lot of my conversations go.

Because of these things, I often struggle to form an opinion with any nuance. Things, especially of a political nature, are rarely black and white. Take the government’s austerity programme for instance. On the face of it, reducing government spending seems like the obvious way of cutting national debt and deficit. But it’s a specious argument. A country’s finances don’t work the same as a person’s. I don’t have an economy. But Britain does.
The government is typically the biggest spender in every sector. If they stop spending money, businesses don’t do as well, because they’re not getting as much money. So they have to fire people. So the government has to spend more on out of work benefits. So people have less money. So they spend less money. So businesses don’t do as well. So they have to fire people. And so it goes on.

I find my mind is stimulated more while I’m writing. I’m concious of what I’m writing and it’s held on paper a screen, so I can fiddle with the thought or idea I’m having as I think and write. As I remember more stuff about whatever it is I’m writing, I’m then able to add this

It’s hard to make my mind up about anything.