It’s mental health awareness week this week. Were you aware? Awareness of mental health is a VERY GOOD THING because being mental is a VERY BAD THING. I’ve had loads of therapy thanks to being loads of mental at various points in my life so I am now very self-actualised, thank you very much. Apart from the deeply dysfunctional, hard-to-reach bits. (See previous post).

Weirdly, I bumped into my therapist last night at a thing at eldest child’s college. It was very odd to see her out of context, like when you were a kid and saw your teacher at the STD clinic…just wrong.

This week we will hear much about things like mindfulness and meditation and not so much about the massive fees charged by shrinks or the mega-long waiting lists to see a free one. To be mentally well, we are told, you must simply just connect with your inner-child.

Well, YAK to that.

Being a kid is horrible. I hated it. No control, no power and in those days, not even an ipad to get addicted to. And all that bloody colouring in – VILE activity. My only childhood delight was a prized secret bogey collection, featured on the back wall of my dolls house.

When you’re a kid you spend ages thinking about all the things you’ll do when you’re grown-up. Mine included:

1. Eat all the cake mixture from the bowl. (Actually, YAK)

2. Go to bed in my clothes thereby avoiding the excruciating business of dressing in the morning. (Also YAK – plus M&S do such lovely pyjamas)

3. Stay up all night chatting to friends on the phone. (Can you IMAGINE wanting to actually do THAT?)

So I haven’t done any of these things as an adult. And there are many things in life you don’t need to actually do to know it would be an unpleasant experience. Anal sex, for example. (But we’ll save that topic for anal-sex awareness week)…

Being an adult is brilliant. You can drink loads and smoke your head off and drive to the STD clinic yourself. And best of all, no more colouring-in. Except, oh…

Colouring-in for grown-ups is now a big thing. Apparently it’s relaxing, guys. It takes your mind off your shit life by focusing on your shit colouring instead thereby flinging you right back to the sad, underachieving child you once were when you were forced to colour-in bloody flowers for hours on end for absolutely NO discernable gain except to remind you that you cannot even do this one, entirely pointless thing as well as Trudi sitting next to you with her Faber-Castell felt-tips and her brown, sporty legs. 

Ahem.

Look, if colouring-in stops you from killing your kids or becoming a gambling addict, then I say GO FOR IT. Whatever works, right? But for me, during this mental health awareness week I shall be staying away from any activities that claim to connect me with my inner child.

Though I may revisit the urge to sleep in my clothes…