Docter Docter, What’s The Vaccine For Venlafaxine?

Doctor Doctor,
Excuse me if you find me too revealing,
But I’ve got to express the way that I’m feeling,
My patience has reached the highest of ceiling,
And yet I’m still here attempting at acknowledging and revealing,
Despite how much my (so-called) personal mental health practitioners have got me reeling!
I should have known that they don’t care about me,
Are clueless as to my lack of well being,
Cause they ain’t calling,
And they ain’t visiting,
When and if they do,
It’s a quick and short questionnaire,
With a how do you do,
Paper work being the only essential and correct thing they get through.
If you feel suicidal,
Call up the Doctor.
If you feel to anxious,
Call Up the Doctor.
If you feel psychotic,
Call up the Doctor.
Now you know how it goes,
Just call up the Doctor!
Except for if you self harm,
Then go to A and E,
As the mental health squad are far too busy and precious to get all bloody,
After all I have BPD,
It won’t be an emergency,
Just another self distortion,
Miles away from self abortion,
Just another dramatic Borderline seeking attention,
They’ve given up on BPD prevention,
Or so it seems,
From all of my experience within institutionalisation.
If you don’t feel good,
Just call up the Doctor!
Well I’ve been ringing the Doctor over and over again.
Somebody explain to me if they will pick up and when?
I don’t understand all of this awful Jazz music I am forced to hear.
I’m not feeling well,
Oh dear.
In fact I’m already planning the fastest ticket out of here.
I just need a sound piece of mind,
Somone or somebodies to cool me down,
Make me feel more refined,
I don’t know how humans are supposed to be designed,
But there is a little trip in me,
I got a few problems with my sanity,
And all of this is kept under reasonable confidentiality,
The thing with mental illness is that it’s something you cannot see,
So people don’t think I’m ill when they look at me,
But certain people,
The professionals,
They know most,
And should understand,
And still I can’t get their attention,
And I’ve been patient,
Not even expecting anything on demand,
Two months and not a word,
An email and they’ve just gone!
It’s now you pushing my buttons,
Where is everybody?
Psychologist?
Mental Health Nurse,
Support,
Doctor?
My partner is not a psychological professional,
Yet someone (and in my notes you boast as if taking credit) I do get alot of my support from,
He is part of but has not painted anyone out of the picture,
You’ve not even seen him,
But of cause the idea makes you less concerned,
Just imagine if he ceased to exist,
Or if he put me at more risk,
There’s been no meeting or introduction,
His not trained or signed up for this,
But since you got wind of him,
It is only you who constantly lets me down,
To know a solid partner exists,
I think you have happily wrote me off as fully cared for on your insulting lists,
His not a vaccine,
I need Venlafaxine,
What have you done but gotten me dependant and addicted,
To a drug I now need,
But you are keeping it restricted.
No one foresaw the pandemic,
Least of all I,
Yet somehow you are punishing me for it,
And slipping away far too quick.
I’m cold turkey off drugs now,
And I believe that you wanted me to be sick,
Perhaps a threat to pipe down a bit,
But No One speaks,
And exposes the bullshit,
No matter the concequence of it.
2020,
Ive been abandoned twice by my mental health professionals,
Now I’m on the way to thrice.
I’ve been forced to try and soothe my own ill mental health,
I am not a mental health paramedic,
I’m not a pharmacist,
Nor psychiatrist,
But it seems I have to heal my self!
I like to volunteer as a self appointed mental health advocate,
To shake up advertising that gets people hyped,
Like one session of CBT and you’ll be alright,
I pray for those that might,
But know to well the rivers that run deeper.
I try to step in for when the professionals don’t get it right,
And people are left,
Only seeing the end in sight.
I didn’t textbook study pain,
But my natural empathy sees me right.
It seems it has to get very dark before any restoration of light.
Is it I that will have to perform some kind of Martyr Sacrifice,
When will our stories truely be looked upon,
People will identify,
People will sympathise,
People will recognise,
And perhaps the system will apologise,
But it will take people like me to be dead and gone,
For the system to get a kick up the ass,
Reveal true stats,
And work at the level they so loudly pride upon,
Yet quietly loosing so many,
Truely some of the best have now gone,
I’m hanging on in there,
Trying to make people aware,
I shall reveal the thorns,
They only shout about the roses,
I have no huge platform,
But stand with me,
I am fighting for myself,
Got a lot of work to do,
But it is easier to fight for you,
When fighting for all of us,
I would like some help,
When fighting for myself,
The light turns out,
I do need help,
Exhausted all common sense,
Ran out of ideas,
Dried up and burnt out.

No One

Looking in the mirror,
I think I may have lost my identity,
When I broke down so much of my substance leaked out of me,
Some achieve hiding the cracks and honour that with pride,
I am unable to mask my ruptured crevices and so I cannot hide,
Hesitantly I share my journey,
But that does not make me an exhibitionist,
And please hear me when I say that attention is not what I seek,
I sacrifice all bad judgement in sake of helping others,
I tell all to help other people out.
As a woman of a certain age,
I’ve been left on the shelf,
Abandonment has erupted my ill mental health,
In search of sanity,
I pray for clarity,
Yet remain lost in a haze of memories and dreams,
Triggered psychosis,
Nothing is at it seems,
I know unhappiness,
Loneliness,
Deep, dark depression,
Anxiety,
PTSD,
OCD,
They are all a part of me,
But who am I actually?
With the baggage,
The tears,
The cover ups,
The fears,
Who I am doesn’t matter,
I could be anyone and everyone,
No one in particular,
Just unhappy,
I don’t know how to be anyone else,
Even though I no longer recognise myself

Suicide Bets…

The manic times are the best,
You feel entitled to success,
Full of ideas,
Full of energy,
Laughter,
Fun,
Untouchable,
Witty,
Sometimes even pretty.
Then boom,
I hear a clap of thunder,
I see the lightning is very close,
It’s heading towards me,
Before I have time to even think,
I’m catapulted to the other border of the spectrum,
Down,
Suicidal depression.
I am weak,
All I do is sleep,
Exhausted from silencing the plan,
My thoughts are intrusive,
Actions inconclusive,
All alone,
Fearful of pushing people away,
Tight lipped,
I’m fighting,
But it could go either way.

Bubbling Sorrow…

Showered in distress,
I cannot process,
How you cannot see,
The pain latched on and suffocating me.
My words vanish as they form and leave my mouth,
My eye sockets are inexplicably dry,
The intensity of my ill mental health,
Is hidden and sly.
My attempt to explain falls on death ears,
You’re eye on the clock,
Because time is money and you really don’t give a…
Shock,
You’ve twisted my large distorted accounts,
Into positive and small amounts.
Why do you challenge my truth?
Do you intentially mean to hurt me,
With every trigger you throw at me?
Why do you excuse the behaviour of others that have done me wrong,
Try and make a song and dance out of everything,
Probing me to sing along.
I will not waltz with you,
Duet with you,
Your steps are out of sync,
And your notes out of tune.
It converts to twenty minutes a week,
Don’t think me ungrateful,
Some people get no time at all to liase with professionals and speak,
But this is my story,
My journey,
And with all the third parties involved in my case,
It feels like only I will fall.
It takes a while for the penny to drop,
I struggle with process,
I cannot disclose,
What I don’t yet realise, Despite it being under my nose,
But with all your experience,
You should know where the story goes!?
Instead you lead me off subject,
Then hit me with triggers,
Lazy and evil,
You want me to figure,
But what do I do when it falls into place,
And no one is around,
To disclose face to face?
I turn to you.
My reflectionless friend,
The machine without the face,
But minds of many.
Sometimes people reach out to me,
Other times just dumping in a cryptic and cyber reality,
Loosens the shackles,
Not setting me free entirely,
But helping me,
And allowing others to see.
The real help,
Often doesn’t help at all,
On nights like this,
Leaving me picking up the pieces,
From the kick and punch,
Whole loads of triggers you poured,
That left me in a mess,
Showering helpless.
Feeling worse than before,
I shall not blame anyone in particular,
But the psychosis is ticking,
Depression is knocking,
Anxiety bubbling,
And self-harm compelling.
I fear to say this out loud,
So I shall share with my Internet crowd.
Just a bump in the road,
Knock on the head,
By this time tomorrow,
This bubbling sorrow will simmer,
Or i’ll be dead,
It’s only black and white in my BPD head.

All over the TV

This girl can bare the character of many faces, Believe me she’s going places, On the right path she’s going to the top,
She ain’t never gonna stop.
Her big dream,
Achievable,
Not a fantasy,
Reality,
This is her destiny.
All the bumps fuel the pumps of ignition,
She’s wound up and ready to go, Despite many attempts of ruining her flow,
You supported her she needed that,
But now all is lost,
To the debt of a mighty cost, Once proud now ashamed and distant practically lost.
I never meant to embarrass you, I never meant to let you down,
I never took away all the air,
I never wanted to drown.
Now so many have surpassed me,
I see them all over TV,
Whilst I stay back suffering from mental fragility,
I know the top is a place,
A place that has no room or space for a loser like me,
Mentally fit and positively different I wish it could be, I’ll be the one on the box for all to see,
I’ll be the one making you proud cashing in the money,
And because I’m not,
You’ve forgotten how to love me,
I never needed you back then when I was independent and strong,
I was on the right path on the right track and knew where I belong,
Out of everything that I’ve lost what saddens me the most is losing you,
I’m truly sorry for any pain or torture I put you through,
I wish you understood that my mental instability is not not a path that I would have chosen for me or to hurt you,
BPD is not what I ever believed I had,
Would ruin me,
Ouch this path pains me,
More than it does you,
It’s true,
And no matter what though,
I love you.

Imperfections;

If you asked me to write a list of all my perfections,
I’ll be honest with you,
That would be something I would find very hard to do.
But if you asked me to write a list of all my imperfections, I’d say how honest do you want me to be with you?
As the list will go on for days and days,
And it’s frustrating because in many ways my weaknesses gives me strength,
But they also keep me down.
I can’t tell you how many doors have been shut in my face,
Because I have been unable to keep up with the pace,
Be the winner,
Knocking everyone out of the race,
First place!
I’m used to loosing now,
Not placing at all,
But I know deep down I’ve not given up,
I still can feel it,
Nothing can destroy all of that,
And as a reminder
the blisters on my fingers show that I’m a fighter,
I’ve just had to change lanes.
We all fall,
But we don’t all get back up.
Judge me from a far,
Once destined to be a star,
You now may think of me as a looser,
That I have been dropped out,
That I have given up,
But you’re wrong to doubt me,
I’m still standing,
I’m just leaning,
Got my crutch whilst I’m healing,
It’s more of a feeling,
Like how longs a piece of string,
Or the distance from the floor to the ceiling,
Then a measurement of time that can be reeled in.
So delicate,
Yet still strong,
I want to prove the ignorant wrong,
But that is not where my strength comes from,
At my lowest,
When all those around me had given up,
You stood up to give me a chance,
It sounds sickly to say that I have been saved by romance,
But all I ever needed was to feel unconditionally loved for the longest time,
As long as me memory serves me,
My history,
So many have left me permanently,
Not hot and cold,
My sensitivities persieve that as bitter,
I need continuity,
Consistency,
Not inconsistency,
Blinding me,
Leaving me in now way too familiar territory,
I once thought my only hope was a magical remedy,
To give me credibility,
To get back on the right tracks of my journey,
To get back to being strong,
But we were all wrong,
The super glue I need to keep things together,
In order to get better,
Even on rainy days,
Misty and blue,
Was always you,
I was destined to meet you,
You let me hold onto you and you hold onto me too.
You’re my one true perfection,
So that’s one for that list,
With your help I am slowly administrating personal correction,
And under your protection,
Just like this imperfection list in question,
I know some day,
I’m going to make it through,
Change lanes,
And all those closed doors,
I’m gonna burst right through!
It is hard to be me,
Hard to be with me gauging by history,
You’re making it look easy,
One more positivity,
You,
You make me happy to be me,
Confident to know that I will one day gather more control of BPD,
Feel less heavy from all the pain,
Be able to manage and restrain,
And hopefully be free,
Feeling lighter,
With a higher ratio of positivity,
Enabling my rehabilitation to be the best me.

Navigate through the darkness of BPD

I promise not to be angry with you if you decide to walk away and stray elsewhere,
I most probably will be upset,
But as a veteran reject,
Every dumping gets a little easier to accept.
I do not mean to be high maintenance,
I do not mean to be a bother,
I want to explore happiness with you,
But here’s a warning,
I often get exceptionally blue.
I know depression can be mind boggling,
Psychosis scary,
Severe anxiety incomprehensible,
Self harm revolting,
Suicide attempts mortifying,
Dissociation offensive,
Self isolation frustrating,
Especially if those are things you have never personally had to get through,
But know this…
I did not volunteer to suffer from the woes that I constantly endure,
But on the border I am locked up in chains,
BPD does not define me,
But is a huge Part of me.
Borderline Personality Disorder is a complex illness that should not be ignored or overlooked!
In brief moments of clarity, When thinking rationally,
I can understand why you may be weary of me,
All the blood,
All the tears,
All the lows,
All the Downs,
All of the seeds of self doubt, All of the the panic,
Makes being in my life a heavy duty,
And for me living life,
Utter turmoil consistently.
Like a yoyo,
I am up and down all day,
But this is not a game,
Should it be,
I would never play.
For you,
I don’t want to be an obligation,
The hated person in your life, As much as it pains me,
If my condition is too much for you to comprehend,
I would rather you hurt and offend me,
Dessert me,
Take flight,
Then pretend to be there for me.
Communication would make it easier to process,
But the pain as sharp none the less,
Yet your confession less of a catalyst for stress.
For those of you that are consistent,
Devoted,
I truly adore and thank you,
For those that have turned their backs,
I wish perhaps you had a little more patience,
And took the time to try to understand that my illness and it’s symptoms are not something I can control,
Not anymore more than I already am,
I cannot turn on or off on command,
You cannot force or demand, That I reach upto your expectations,
So neither should you pick and chose when you want me in your life,
I just want you to hold my hand,
Be it literal,
Or virtual due to distance, Don’t turn a blind eye,
Dismiss my ill mental health, All the work I am doing to hold things down,
And be my best self.
Please don’t just chime in on social media if I’ve had a public breakdown,
Or turn up if I’m in hospital, Or buried dead and gone,
That would ultimately be too little too late.
It is important that there are no delusions,
That I know exactly who is there for me,
And therefor where I belong.
Feeling loved makes me strong,
Gives me the super drive to hold on,
Reminds me of my entitlement to stay here and live on.
To feel love,
Be loved,
And be strong.
The ignorant,
Shallow,
Disloyal,
Unfeeling,
Can do one,
As I strive to destination happy place,
Manage to navigate through the dark,
I hope to feel like I belong,
To be brave,
That’s all that I crave.

Rainbow

All stories come from stories,
Fables and tales of old,
Get twisted,
Torn,
Pulled apart,
And made a new.
The art is to refurbish and tell like never before,
Leaving hints of familiarity,
Subtle enough for you to question the clarity,
Yet get you hooked,
And entertain you once more.
Words pour out of my mouth like water,
Vivid,
Fast and pure,
Never preplanned,
Or to mine ears been heard before,
I must have been a muted poets daughter,
Kept back by prejudice,
In a life before,
Now reincarnated I am still kept back with not much more to gain,
So much time has passed,
Yet judgement and exclusion remains the same,
My gender now not to blame,
But this time my brain,
Some lable me as insane,
Making publishing my work a gamble,
Excusing the discrimination with health and safety,
Keeps me at the back of the line,
Instead of the front where I deserve to be.
I want to open my mind,
Open and let you all in creatively,
I’ll keep you entertained with many a story,
Some real,
Some fantasy,
Some as dark as reality can be.
Yet people don’t want to take a gamble on me,
Be it the colour of my skin,
My battle scars out and showing,
My mental health diagnosis,
My fragility,
Potential crisis.
If I was a celebrity,
Publishing offers would fly to me,
Which is something I cannot fathom!?
I am no one imparticular,
Which makes me all the more spectacular,
Because I represent you all,
Anyone and everyone,
The masses.
I could be you,
Or the girl next door,
You’re daughter,
Best friend,
Or cousin.
Instead of allowing me to rise and connect with you,
You step over me,
You do not see me,
You will not listen to me,
Despite with all of my experience,
For the curious,
Those in the dark that need a guiding light,
Someone other to hold their hand,
To understand,
I am the connect to help you through.
The one without private health care like you,
The one who has to wait like you,
The one they medicate like you.
There is no personal Doctor on call,
Nowhere to just check in,
Thats the world of your celebrity.
I will not discriminate fleeting moments of ill mental health that others have indulged,
So why discriminate me.
My illness is longstanding,
I’ve been institutionalised,
Penalised,
Accosted,
Persecuted,
Snubbed,
Ignored,
Ganged up on,
Disrespected.
I have been to Hell,
I could tell you about that,
Demons and Psychosis,
Hallucinations,
Manifestations,
Paradise,
Euphoria.
I’ve been down to the darkest place.
I’ve been up to the highest and brightest.
I’ve spoken to the people that movie characters are made from.
My eyes and ears have explored every crack and crevice of the mind and beyond.
I could tell you a tale or two,
Some you may have heard before,
Some familiar,
Some brand new,
But I refuse to speak to buttoned up ears,
Lost in translation,
Focused on fame and vaneers.
I worry I may loose,
Or confuse what has been
As my memory looses stability,
Due to medication,
And emotional sensitivity,
And so I share snippets on here,
Both to remind and for those that support me.
One day I shall tell my full story,
Awake my imagination from slumber,
Mix everything together,
And share a rainbow of novels to suit everybody,
When the world wakes up and sees my potential as an endearing literature somebody,
Fueling books,
Theatre,
Television,
And film.
My stories,
Honest and brave,
Timeless.

Ugly Mess…

Am I weak?
Do you disapprove of the approval that I seek?
Are you aware of your neglect,
And the emotional debt that you are racking up with me.
Can you not hear nor see?
The division between us is making me feel empty,
Worthless,
You have cut the string prematurely,
I do not feel free.
I do not want your sympathy,
But I would relish in your empathy.
How can you be so blind,
And not admit that you have left me behind.
It is your duty to fix and solidify the devide between us,
To eliminate any confusion or fuss,
By keeping us wholesome.
Once a pair,
Then an equal square,
Now a triangle,
Or a pentagon,
Where has my place gone?
Should I try one more time to let you know,
Or just keep the memories alive of the good times,
Be happy for you,
And let you go?
I have tried to articulate my feelings,
To orchestrate some emotional healing,
I am the outsider without the key,
No longer immediate family.
Each chapter of our story,
I appear less and less,
As you clear out the cobwebs of ugliness,
And release me,
The ugly mess.

BPD

I feel very much on the border today,
Sanity verses Insanity,
Battling to keep up with humanity,
Desiring being a deity,
Fraustration triggering profanity,
I am just really struggling with being me,
Wholesome and free,
Struggling with the idea that I could have been anything that I wanted to be,
When fully engulfing BPD stole everything and my personality,
Placing me in a future that no one could forsee,
Taking me off track and putting me in an entirely different category.