As I try to dig myself out of the trenches, I am discovering what an unfathomably murky place the mind is. Recovery is inexact and inexplicable. I've heard it described as 'soul healing', and that feels right to me. The trouble is, there are no tangible markers for any of this soul business - you can't gauge progress by sandwiches eaten or by body mass index. I think it's a very difficult concept to grasp, especially in our western culture of definitives. So in the spirit of all things esoteric and vague, I've turned to poetry. The first poem shows the way up and out of this illness, the second is about things that keep me stuck and sick.