Nine months ago I moved to London. Packed up my life and got a ticket and got on a bus and got off it twenty hours later at Victoria Greenline Coach Station.
Two weeks later by a serendipitous convergence of coincidences, I ended up with a place to live and love.
Everything was going well…previously I had set off on a course of homeopathic treatment and was feeling great. Things were going well. I got involved in local community art projects. Things were going well. I got off my regular medication. Things were going well. I was in love. Things were going well. I was making bread in the mornings. Things were going well. Had online teaching job. Things were going well.
Then, over two days I flopped and had a relapse, the worst in ten years, ended up in hospital for nearly three weeks. Things were not going that well.
Why does love feel the way it does? Because it does…and it saved me. My mind and my body. Only fully recovering now, and it may take another couple of months. It made me stop, and stop and stop and stop and reevaluate everything. It still does. Take it real slow. And when I say slow, I mean it. Real real slow. You could call me Slowy.
Healing both my mind and my body. Thanks to fate (or was it faith? not aware of having had any yet there must have been something) I am now shedding weight I had first accumulated ten years ago when my problems first started. Learning to deal and manage myself in new ways and enjoying it.
More to come, watch this space.