A Diary From Noone

She spoke but no one heard, every scream seemed a whisper, and so she took pen to paper...

Category: Brum Votes (page 2 of 4)

When The Curtains Close…

When the curtain’s close,
And the applause dies down,
I enter another dimension,
Spinning dizzy on an irrational Merry Go Round.
My mask scrubbed off,
Costume neatly hung,
Lines stored for tomorrow,
I cannot pretend anymore,
And I am left in sorrow.
My hands shake,
Arms ache,
As I try to embrace myself,
Rocking back and forth,
Backwards and forth.
Most people get nervous when the stage lights go up,
Yet for me,
It is when the lights go down.
My heart sinks.
There is no platform to pretend anymore.
I loose my voice,
My heart heavy and sore.
Weak in the knee’s,
Unsteady feet,
The magic fades,
Leaving me weak.
The star has gone,
I am No One,
Someone,
Anyone,
Everyone,
No sense of self,
Or belonging,
Alone,
Just me!
Whoever that may be!?

Left Sore…

Stranded and alone,
I felt scared,
All of my positivity disappeared.
Let down,
I could not fathom your mood,
Left as easy bate,
I was lucky to have not been pursued,
As I sat crying,
No idea where I was,
In the dark,
At an unfriendly time.
The truth is,
I am not well,
Even the slightest trigger,
Could send me to hell!
The incident plays and replays in my head,
Just a little hiccup for you,
Drove me to despair,
Nearly ending up dead.
And yet still no apology,
How very disappointing,
And unfair,
Did you even care?
Now safe,
Home at last,
Yet the memory of the incident,
I cannot put down to the past!
It will stay in my head forever more,
Emotionally bruised,
And very sore.

Extra Time…

That poor child with a hole in his heart,
He has a pocket full of dreams.
Adventurous,
Brave,
Smart,
And cheeky,
Eager for his life to start!
“A Doctor” is what he said that he wanted to be,
And so he could help fellow sick people like he!
Then there is me,
Nearly thirty three,
Thirty years his senior,
A wasted soul,
Unhappy and ungreatful in life.
We both have hole’s iin our Herat’s,
Only his,
Literal,
And mine,
Metaphorical,
Still each scenario could lead to an unpleasant fatality.
He,
To him this whole notion is inconceivable,
Unbelievable,
Unfathomable.
I was once like him,
Determined to heal,
Beg,
Borrow,
And steal,
In order to be alive and feel!
I would give him my life if I could,
He would make the most of it,
I know he weould!
Life to me,
Does not feel as it should,
Full of heartache,
Misery,
Despair,
And negativity,
Running on misery,
No obvious destiny,
Broken and desperately misunderstood.
I want him to have my life,
Some extra time.
To you this may sound strange,
To me it is a fair exchange.
An opportunity to be the best that he can be.
The wires in my head are positioned incorrectly,
If I could give him my time,
My life,
Perhaps that would finally mean peace for me.
I would be his Guardian Angel,
With him day by day,
Guide him from wrong to right.
I would monitor his sleep,
Converse with the Sand Man,
Sucking out the venom that nightmares make,
And replace them with love,
Confidence,
Comfort,
And passion,
Whilst gazing upon him amongst the star light sky at night.

Struggles With Voices Are The Worst!

When you are down, low and insecure, there is nothing worse then the added pressure of hearing voices. For the reader’s that have never experienced psychosis, imagine wanting complete quiet but you have two people shouting into each ear at the same time, plus the radio on full volume, the TV on full volume and the piercing sound of all electricity, the lights, heating, just a volcano of noise that you cannot control or ignore. Plus everything being said is critical, condescending and demanding of you. That is the best way that I can describe my experience of hearing voices. It is agonising and can lead to catastrophic consequences’. I may be happy one second and then like a smack in the face, it can all come on and all at once. I can have the cleanest diet, be alcohol free, exercise daily, distract myself with music, poetry, TV, whatever. I could go on a heavy night out, drink all night, socialise and dance. I can be stuck in bed for days. I keep trying to diagnose my own triggers and think that is where I am going wrong. Such symptoms are simply part of my illness, what I do does not determine a relapse, it is just the nature of my illness. I take my medication, communicate with support but neither or are cures, they are just put in place to decrease such symptoms, not eradicate them. This is an acceptable theory upon reflection but not helpful at all when in the moment. I just want to switch off for a bit.

Buzzzzzzzzzzz!
Buzzzzzzzzzzz!
Swish!
Swash!
Swish!
Can you hear it?
Buzzzzzzzzzzz!
Buzzzzzzzzzzz!
Swish!
Swash!
Swish!
Can you hear it?
I can!
I am sick of it!
It’s not as it may seem,
The noise I mean.
It is like tuning into a radio station,
Before they went digital!
Nonsensical sound waves,
They then commit,
Translate,
And strongly exist…
Listen to me!
Listen to me!
Oi,
Jade,
Listen!
Seriously,
Can you not hear it?
I can!
It goes on and on,
And on and on,
Intense,
Overpowering,
Tightening,
Instructing and demanding.
I hear it!
I cannot turn it down.
Where’s the mute button?
The stop button.
They say they will,
If I succumb.
You are insignificant!
You are unworthy!
You are vermin!
You have the stench of death about you!
People would be better off without you!
You are no one special.
Pigeons are like Rats with wings,
You are like a rat with two legs.
A pest!
Get over yourself,
Everyone around you,
Strangers that meet you,
Loved ones too,
They don’t want you,
You know it’s true.
Darkness and gloom seeps in and out of your nostrils,
What you inhale is pure,
But release is deadly!
So I unwillingly spread darkness?
Make it stop?
No one wants you around,
It doesn’t have to be said!
Just read between the lines,
You are an unwanted inbred.
No one wants a burden,
You’d be better off dead!
You can try to keep up.
You can try and beat it,
Defeat it,
But is there any point?
Weighing people down,
Bringing people down,
Drowning and gagged,
Sinking deeper and deeper,
Let go and release them,
Everyone and thing you touch ends up in disaster,
Your darkness spreads like fire!
So let them all go,
Or they’ll all burn with you!

Halloween 👻 🎃 🦇

If my wits weren’t about me,
Perhaps I would not have seen,
This dark and morbid being.
As it blended into the night,
Still and invisible,
Almost to all.
But the glare from its eyes were as red as blood,
World pools of monochromatic rouge,
Like laser’s,
Appearing to just hover,
Harmless to a passer by,
But not to I,
For I was the target,
But unbeknownst to it,
I had noticed.
Each breath it took confirmed a presence,
Like a Childs scream,
High pitched inhales and exhales,
Sounding deadlier and deadlier upon repetition.
A force greater then I,
Out of my control,
Had me compelled,
Like a magnet,
I was pulled closer and closer.
This was no trick or treat,
But a Halloween feast,
For this bewildered beast,
Devilish creature,
Full of evil,
Lacking a soul,
Threw me into its black hole,
It took me all at once,
And all in one.
Halloween,
Taken for good,
Never to be seen again.
Alone and with no one,
No witnesses,
Captured and gone!

World Mental Health Day…

Does world mental health day mean we celebrate diversity and make it known that it is something to be embraced and accepted? Is it to acknowledge that mental health is a legitimate condition? Is it to remember all the people that we have lost to suicide? Is it to prevent hate crime caused by misunderstanding. Is it about breaking the stigma and taboo’s that go along with mental health. Is it to educate the ignorant? Is it to humble those that suffer in silence?
I sincerely hope that it is about all of the above. You know that I (No One) dedicate my life to raising awareness for mental health. I have depression. I have anxiety. I have BPD with symptoms of psychosis. I am not ashamed. All that I write is real. Take from it what you will and please share with anyone who you think may benefit from my blogs and poetry.

Peace And Love,

No One xx

when do unfortunate ailments turn into baggage?

They say any fool can fall in love. Hands down, I am therefore a fool. Believing in monogamy. The rule “it takes two to tango” makes a lot of sense to me.
I have always wanted to get married and have children, yet somehow I have turned out to be a modern day version of Mr Charles Dickens, Miss Havisham. I have no fortune to speak of, I have not even been proposed to, let alone jilted by a lover, but like her, I have longed for the love of a man, only to have my heart broken.
William Congrave once said, “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned. Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned. ”
I am not vindictive about others who may achieve successful and life lasting love but I am of cause a little jealous.
We don’t always get what we want in life. I usually get what I don’t want and tangled up in multiple webs and triangles and such is my life.
Some readers may be thinking, getting out there, is the expression, “bite the bullet by its head”?
If I had less ailments, less of a disastrous dating history of lovers, maybe I would put more of a search on. A broken heart is hard to mend. A beaten down and squashed heart is a first class ticket to spinster land and the point of no return. I am holding on but not feeling all that strong.
People always say, your time will come! I do an half hope so because I am running out of hope and steam! (Simultaneous laugh and cry out loud).
This takes me to the questions;
1. Would you date someone with mental health issues?
2. Would you date someone with an embarrassing dermatological illness?
3. Would you date someone full figured?
4. Would you date someone damaged?
5. Would you date someone insecure?
6. Would you date someone emotionally unstable?
5. Would you date someone if you knew they were unfit to work?
6. Would you date anyone with all of the above?
Sounds scary!? Sounds extreme!? You can choose whether you can live with that or not, I can’t, non of it is self inflicted. So I will just have to explore loving myself. Am I Austen’s Emma, or am I Bronte’s Jane Ayer?
I am none other then the modern day loveless woman on the shelf.

Being A Black, Thirt-Two Year Old Woman and Crazy…

After watching, “Being Black And Going Crazy” I have found myself, as a black woman with certified and diagnosed mental health problems, reflecting upon the show and my own personal experiences.
I have been an inpatient at various mental health hospitals in both Birmingham and London over the last three years and cannot say that the ratio of Black patients, White patients, Asian patients and any “Other” patients has dominated more than each other, it has always been pretty equal. Regardless to the culture in which the area of the hospital is situated, because with the huge NHS Mental Health budget crisis, there are often national shortages of beds and so you end up where you end up, regardless of where you come from or which mental health hospital is closer to your home logistically.
I have always tried to accept help when it has been offered, when a psychiatric team suggest you go into hospital, you know it is both serious and important because it is not an easy decision to make or accommodate. If you refuse to comply, you may very well get sectioned and so do always try to accept the help when it is offered, as it is hard to come by.
The only difficulty that I have found as a black woman, is the patronising, inappropriate chat off the ward nurses of African or Caribbean descent. Although I believe that these members of staff were just trying to help, trying to show empathy but they approached me in the wrong way and gave some terrible, unprofessional and uncalled for advice. “Listen my sister, where in Africa are you from? You have a nice skin tone. What do you have to be depressed about? Do you think you are the only one who has had a hard life sister!? You will end up getting diagnosed if you don’t stop. Just pray to God and he will guide you sister.”
Excuse me! Firstly, I am not your sister! Secondly, I am not from Africa! Who cares what skin tone I have!? I don’t know all the reasons and why I am depressed. I most definitely know that life is and can be hard on everyone, not just me! Stop what!? Surely a diagnosis will lead to some kind of understanding, provide some answers!? Pray to God!? I did not disclose that I am religious!
The assumptions’ that these ladies made, the way they spoke to me, what they said to me, it was all because I was a black patient.
Each time I have been admitted into hospital has been because of troubles with my mentality, some of those problems were caused by genetics, both nature and nurture, but not because of the colour of my skin and whether the nurses had good intentions or not, I believe that their approach was unprofessional! I never witnessed them talk to any other people (not of colour) in the same way! I did see them approach fellow black patients.
Every patient, no matter what colour of their skin, their age, gender, sexuality, religious beliefs, diagnosis, they all deserve equal treatment.
“If you would treat the black man like you treat the white man , carry on man! Peace and Love”
“I am a black, thirty-two year old woman with various mental health problems.” Joe Blogs can home in on any part of that information but from the mind of a mental health professional, all they should hear is,”mental health problems”. Ethnicity, age and gender should come second.

To those that loved Amy…

Amy was a fully grown Alsation,
But there is no salvation in her departure.
She had the qualities of a child,
So humble,
Very loyal,
Friendly,
And honest.
Her character,
A reflection of her upbringing,
Not just a dog,
Nor man’s best friend,
Far from an average pet,
But a daughter,
A sister,
Dedicated to loving and protecting all of her family.
She had her role all figured out,
She was obedient,
But also elegant with a little sass,
Which is why she was so unique,
And will be extremely memorable to all!
Amy was special,
Exquisite.
Her passing is a tragedy
One I can’t yet comprehend,
It makes no sense to me,
How loosing her can possibly be true and fair.
She had a huge presence throughout the house,
And her spirit will remain there,
Without a doubt.
Store those memories,
Collect those pictures and video’s,
And keep them safe,
In an accessible place.
Sometimes grief makes us forget,
Delete out of fear of eternal pain,
Evokes suffering and regret.
But one day the tears will stop,
The sadness will lift,
And you will be able to smile and reminisce,
Become strong enough to be nostalgic without anger,
Tears,
Or spite,
You will then believe me when I say she hasn’t all gone away,
Her presence and powerful spirit will never leave you,
Because she was a part of you,
And there is nothing, anyone or anything can do to break that,
She will always be by your side,
Please remember that!

The heart of Malaga

As I sit in this holy place,
I try to make sense of what is and can be,
Does faith draw in tranquility?
Or does tranquility draw in faith?
I don’t suppose either/or really matters,
What matters is that one is at one with one’s self,
Enabling us to feel joy and purpose in the presence of life.
Religion can make you feel alive,
Part of a community,
Loved,
Heard,
Significant
And understood,
But it can also cause terror,
Ostracise people,
Take away your voice,
Label you impure or a sinner,
Shun you,
Leaving you feeling judged,
Disconnected,
In doubt of all that you know and rules that you abide,
And extremely misunderstood!
My question is,
Is there a happy medium?
Sitting in this aesthetically beautiful church building,
With monumental history,
Draped like the crown jewels throughout,
It exuberates wealth,
With lavish gold architecture.
It oozes with glamor and fortune,
Quite the opposite from humble tranquility.
I know not the correct answer to my question.
I know not how I feel entirely,
Being agnostic and all,
But despite the grand facade of gold and riches,
Despite my reservations of religion when in comparison to science,
This place still seems somewhat sacred.
Whether it be the familiar and universal pattern of service from the priest?
The people from near and far,
Foreign and native in prayer?
I do most definitely feel welcome here,
And perhaps,
Admittedly,
A tingle of God’s presence.
Faith did not lead me there,
Nor a desire for tranquility,
It was more about curiosity,
But I believe I left with a little of both,
How long it will last,
I cannot guarantee,
But I definitely left with a slice of faith and tranquility.

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