Blood Is Thick

Tis fact that you are familiar with ill fortune,
Your ears have heard the tale of many woes,
Perhaps weakening your compassion,
Pained details becoming a fashion,
That by duty you must hear and impartially adhere to,
So much so that you perceive my grumblings as petulance,
Detached you are,
This is apparent from your facetious and needless remarks,
That you have barked,
Despite my fragility.
You harbour no emotion,
It is all innocent and guilty,
When it comes to my commotion,
Because we share no blood.
Occasionally fond of me,
But only love would enable you to hear and see,
The true pitty,
Wich is my history,
Evoking such misery,
So much so that it obliterated my destiny.
Now on a new path,
I do not forget,
Still waiting for you to love me,
But I no longer threat.
I ask for nothing from you,
And am therefor not disappointed,
You are happy with our distance,
And so it is kept.
Thinking I meant more to you,
Sums me up more than what you do,
Or don’t truly think.
You compared me to them,
That’s when I knew when,
You are detached,
And I cannot change that,
We need not walk on eggshells,
Nor tango,
Waltz,
Two Step around it,
Different blood we have,
Completely different roots,
I’ve seen the apple in your eye,
Your dedication to the princess and the glass slipper,
So made of stone you are not,
I’m just the old boot,
But a boot I am,
And I must be greatful for that,
Blood is thick,
Wine is devine,
But we all need water from time to time.

What the actual F###!?

When you wake up thinking that it is just another day and you habitually vape, check your phone for missed texts, calls, social media messages, statements and recorded visits on my various outlets, once satisfied, I usually take my medication and get out of bed and my day officially begins. One of the texts that I received was off a friend, she said that she had listened to one of my poems on SoundCloud and had really enjoyed it, that compliment ignited my artistic fuel and so I decided that the first task of the day would be to record another. Setting up took a while, choosing the right song, a device to play it from, a source to manipulate volume, my words and another device to record. Getting it right took even longer. Once satisfied, I uploaded and shared it.

When I had finished, I was extremely parched and so I went into the kitchen for the first time that day. I was thinking about food but still felt a little sick for over indulging on my diet snacks in disappointment the night before. I was supposed to be going on a date with someone that I had met online and had been conversing with for two whole weeks. He had cancelled the week before, due to a sustained work injury and being the gullible and helpless romantic that I am, I continued talking to him, at least he had cancelled, the guy that I was supposed to date before, had gone AWOL and so for me this scenario was an improvement. Yet unfortunately it got to date day and I had not heard from him to confirm, I started to get ready whilst making up excuses for him, perhaps he was at work with no access to his phone, as we had planned this date throughout the last week, perhaps he felt no need to check in and confirm. Our date was supposed to be at eight. I didn’t want to come across to intense and insecure but had no desire to get ready and go to meet someone who had seen and ignored my WhatsApp texts. In hope I had begun to get ready, but it got to seven and still not a word. I had officially been stood up, once again. I am rapidly becoming to familiar with this scenario! People complain about bad dates and I can’t even seem to get to the first date stage.
It had been a really bad week for me, being stood up of cause stirs the pangs of abandonment and rejection issues that I already have but not meeting this guy was the least of my worries. I had engaged in a therapy session that I had been anxious about attending, I am better at disclosing stuff to females but with the budget cuts, my only option was a male therapist, the session evoked and awakened the voices that I hear that had admittedly been dormant for at least a month. I had recently received news about having to leave my residence and find a new home, the decision felt heavy and premature to me. My depression had me stuck in a rut, unable to be active, shower, change my clothes and get out of my funk, energy levels low and no desire or motivation. On top of that, my psychosis had come back with a vengeance, my anxiety had me in regular panic attacks and my depression in floods of tears, this was prior to the new therapy about suicidal thoughts, actions and hearing voices that I was due to commence. I was cycling on my wonder core smart one night, whilst sobbing my heart out at the same time, what an image. After therapy with heightened psychosis, I couldn’t rest or sleep properly, disturbed by every sound, music, people, constant chatter and noise, unable to distinguish if the noise was universal or just a burden for me.
When I walked into the kitchen, it looked like the remains of a murder scene! Blood on the floor, surfaces and up the walls. I live alone and so of cause, it had to be my blood. I looked at my body for the first time that day, and discovered blood soaked bandages on my left arm and right leg. What the actual F###!? If I can do such detrimental harm to myself and just forget about it, I fear what may happen next time and in the future. I was clearly unwell, having some kind of episode and quite frankly unsafe to be alone. I was shocked, confused, scared, apprehensive and felt terribly isolated. I wanted to tell someone and ask for help but had strong reservations. Why should I drag people that I care about into this mess? Why reach out to people that I think care about me, only to get shunned and turned away. Why be delusional enough to think that anyone would care when I am just a number, another insignificant and weak being on this planet. Why invite my loved ones into this cobweb of a disaster. Why tell the professionals when I know that, that would result in some serious intervention. I did and do not want to go back to hospital, telling them would result in another psychiatric sentence. I decided to tell them once it had subsided as I believe the incident does need to be logged, yet if it happened again, I would have to swallow my pride and say something.
Throughout that day and the night, I kept seeing gigantic black spiders scuttle across the living room floor. Once again, it was hard to try to get to sleep that night with all of the distractions. I felt this animal jump onto the bed and get really close to my face, paralysed, I could not move or scream. I opened my eyes to see what felt like a fury creature, it was a large black cat with a bushy coat. I turned my head but could still not scream. I don’t have a pet, how did it get in? I hate cats. I was scared that it was more likely to be a rat or something. I had to dig really deep to get movement back into my body and turned the light on as soon as I was free. There was no creature to see but I swear that was not a dream, it was real what had happened to me. This time I decided to call for help, I was still bleeding away. The help said that it was a lucid dream, but I would not accept it and confessed how scared that I was. It was arranged to get a call once the office was open. This was only a few hours away. It was suggested that I get some sleep but I couldn’t and sat up writing. The call came just as I had fallen asleep, there was talk of solutions and action and it was decided that all the information would be relayed back to my mental health team Monday morning and to expect a call. It is now Tuesday and still no call, I even tried to phone them and I am waiting for a call back. I think the worst of it is over now but my illness is unpredictable, I would be a fool to believe that my symptoms are over for good. I hope that this new therapy will help me understand such happenings. What scares me the most, is not being able to remember causing great harm to myself and I fear the severity of injury if it happens again.
Living with severe mental health problems can only be described as an intricate, living nightmare. I believe that it has shaped my destiny, which is to use my experiences of pain and suffering to help others and raise awareness, I have been told that I must die to make an impact. Every time that I see or speak to my little sister, this saddens me.