A Diary From Noone

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

Tag: #care

Broken Heart

I think the reason why I blog, write poetry, spoken word, music and reach out to people on social media is because I genuinely don’t want people to feel the pain that I do. I reach out to anyone and everyone because I feel like I have lost the contact and love from important people in my life and I try to fill that void by helping others. A heavy heart and tangled brain is a burden that often leads to isolation and fatality. A problem halved is a problem shared, because you need more than one hose to put out a fire.
I have lost friends, partners and family because I suffer from mental illness, BPD and all that sails in her. I have lost a huge part of myself, my dreams, my confidence, reputation because after being constantly bullied, denied/abandoned/banished by my biological father, excluded from family holidays and reunions and you can only pick yourself up and dust yourself off so many times. I can see a world without me in it, way more clearly than I can see a future for myself. I want my own family and their only burden would be to be smothered by my love and baffled by my pride, my husband and children would never doubt my love for them for as long as I live.
When you stop going out and attending social events/family occasions, inevitably the invites stop coming in, so do the phonecalls texts and all communication.
The only comments I receive are about my weight gain, belittling or denying my illness, I receive no love off the people that once gave me so much. Do I embarrass them? Offend them? Do they honestly think self harm and suicidal behaviour is something that I am proud of, that I take pleasure in?
When you come from a working class background and you don’t get private health care, even the professionals abandon you and let you down. I had a mini breakdown last year, because of the disgraceful way that I was treated in hospital.
A family member has said to me, “If you are going to kill yourself, just get on with it and do it!” I tried by the way. At least I know where I stand with that individual.
Life carries on. I think people loose patience with people like myself. The survivors have a strong network of support. So many others leave this world because fighting depression/anxiety/psychosis is like fighting an army and no human is strong enough to combat an entire battle alone. Not even fictional characters like Arya Stark from Game of Thrones! Even her badass needed much help.
I apologise to all whom I have hurt/disappointed/upset since my breakdown 2013. I need you to know (even if you do not understand) I am ill. Would you be able to resent someone with epilepsy? Sounds a bit silly and I am not literally comparing, but sickness is sickness.
I used to reach out alot more before than I do now, because I know that there isn’t really enough help, love and support out there for me from the people that I want and need. I got so confused, at one point I was even reaching out to people from my past, whom were left in my past for a reason, sorry! Desperation is a poorly lit torch. I now understand your side steps.
I don’t need to be ignored, excluded resented by my closest/oldest (long standing) /bestest and feel that I both have been and am being.
I feel like a spare part.
I feel so tired of fighting alone.
I feel like trouble and woes just keep falling upon my shoulders.
I cannot really help myself anymore, I try my hardest to be independent and self sufficient but my demons are often all consuming. I take my medication, accept professional help but it feels like prolonging the inevitable.
Friends come and go in life but best friends should stick around through ups and downs forever.
Partners come and go in life but should I loose my current one I really will explode.
Love is so important and we understand that it should be unconditional, but more often than not, it proves not to be.
Family are your family, blood is an undeniable bond but I don’t expect my third cousin in timbuktu to be there for me, yet I do get disappointed by my immediate family not.
Age is just a number when it comes to dealing with the emotional turmoil that I do, I still need a phone call, an I LOVE YOU, a cuddle, to be held and included. I hate confrontation and so I don’t scream & shout about all this but we all know.
I think people get tired of people like me, I just want those people to know that I do not choose to be this way. I don’t want you to have to tolerate me, feel obliged to be there for me, so I silently let you ditch me but it does upset me and doesn’t help me stay on top of recovery. I have tried to communicate and hint but you are all putting a wedge between us, just please hold on until I am secure with my special someone, I won’t survive on my one.
To my blog readers I am No One, a someone representing everyone and no one in particular, but to a few I should be a special someone, and all this someone wants is to feel loved and secure to fuel the fight and sun away those dark clouds.
So never feel a burden by messaging me guys, together we can silence those terror crys.

Black Girls Don’t Cry… Returns

As a self appointed mental health advocate, I have been fortunate enough to be approached by the BBC a few times throughout my crazy journey of ill mental health and my latest opportunity was being able to share parts of my story via the BBC Radio4 and Made In Manchester documentary, “Black Girls Don’t Cry”. Due to resounding success, it is available once more. It airs January 3rd at 8pm BBC Radio4 but is also currently available on iPlayer. Simply Google, “Black Girls Don’t Cry” or https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0b9zfws and you shall be able to hear two other brave black ladies as well as myself, share our stories of ill mental health. Catch it while you can. It really gives great food for thought.

Social Friends In Cyber Media…. Cysober…

For the blaggers,
The bull-shitters,
The false friends,
And fake lovers!
All of my Cysober sister’s and brother’s.
The people that, “like” without opening your post.
The people that comment without reading your post.
The selfies,
The tagging,
The Internet bragging,
Attention seeking,
Sob stories,
The bitchy comments,
Exclusion,
The hott list,
The not list,
The group chats,
The blanking,
The rants,
The pestering (guilty as charged),
The sharing,
The over sharing,
The overbearing,
Ignoring,
Blocking,
The friend requests,
The stranger requests,
The stalking,
Not messaging back,
The friend count,
The like count,
The video watched count.
The chain messages,
Advertising,
Chastising,
Grooming,
Bullying,
Pranking,
Punking.
The people from your past,
The insincere,
The numbers mean nothing,
The live video’streaming, mantras and selfies a facade!
In this instance my intentions are genuine,
I am here,
I am asking for your help!?…
The majority of you will not read this,
The rest won’t know what I am talking about,
Because this isn’t about fashion or reality TV,
Perhaps it should be…
Reality TV,
But this is an opportunity to make positive change for charity!
JustGiving/JadeLaurie-Hart
Please donate/share/help me,
Help others!?
www.adiaryfromnoone.co.uk

Listen to Cyscober by noone adiaryfromnoone #np on #SoundCloud

Therapy

A lovely someone sent me a link about the best way to support someone with BPD. It revolved around validating the individuals feelings, emotions, actions and reactions. It encouraged patience and empathy. As someone with BPD, my world is very isolated, as it is for most people with secondary level mental health problems, which is exactly why I selflessly write poetry and document my thoughts and experiences via my blogs, to engage, validate and show empathy towards the many people out there suffering and that feel alone.
I feel depressed, teary, stuck, lost, insignificant, frustrated, isolated, misunderstood, a burden, worthless and helpless every single day. I am self destructive, self harm is my biggest problem and suicidal thoughts linger around me constantly. I worry that if I communicate and reveal this to the professionals, they may admit me into hospital, which has kept happening once or twice a year since 2013. From my experience, mental health professional’s believe acute ward’s are not the answer for someone with BPD, which I believe to be an inaccurate theory as they cannot tarnish us all with the same brush. It just cannot be so black and white! If I am at risk to myself, of cause a safe place such as a hospital with twenty-four hour care is the best place to be. The only alternative is daily half hour visits which rapidly decrease and then you end up seeing a community psychiatric nurse every fortnight. There seems to be nothing in-between, no happy medium. If I tell my loved one’s, I worry them, upset them, confuse them and somewhat push them away as they are not equipped to take on the heavy load of problems that I undergo. I personally find helplines’ pointless. The NHS home treatment crisis line is always busy, inundated with many fellow sick people reaching for help. The longest call back time that I have experienced to date, was three whole hours. In that time the damage I feared had already been done.
They say that the best remedy for my personal mental health problems are medication (which I do take religiously)and agree that they help, and therapy. DBT (Dialectal Behavioural Therapy) was designed for people with BPD. Unfortunately it is very hard to come by. To my knowledge, in the city that I live in, you can only get DBT if you opt for private care. Unfortunately I am not lucky enough to be able to afford private care, and so I am stuck in this unhealthy merry-go round of ups, downs, highs and lows, my life hindered by anxiety, depression, psychosis, emotional instability, feeling trapped and misunderstood.
Despite feeling let down by many mental health professionals and the NHS care provided, I don’t want to live the rest of my life the way that I have been these past three years. Therapy has been suggested as a method of care. I had a therapist who performed psycho-dynamic therapy upon me for almost twelve months, first once a week and then twice a week. Unfortunately she suddenly passed away. I was then reluctantly catapulted into a group therapy where I was deeply misunderstood, it made me feel helpless and lead to some serious self destruction. I was then asked to not return, rejected and abandoned once again. This was over a year ago. I believed that I was on some kind of waiting list, I didn’t push or pursue the matter as my experiences were so sad, so bad, so detrimental towards alot of my relapse’s, I was in no hurry to try it all again.
Following my last relapse and hospital admission in May 2016, I came to discover that I had been taken off the waiting list. There has been alot of inconsistent information thrown my way since my discovery, confusion about where I may have my therapy, what therapy, do I even need therapy? The issue is still to be resolved, but if I hadn’t had my relapse, I would have still been silently waiting for contact that inevitably was never going to come!
I have always been very adamant about having individual therapy from a female therapists. I had an assessment two weeks ago, with not one but two male therapists in a rather small room. I felt judged and anxious. I have no recollection of what I said within the one hour and a half appointment but I felt uneasy and like I had failed. It felt like I had just talked my way out of a job. I felt that my intelligence, past success and vocabulary made them analyse me quite intensely and it did not go in my favour. I hope that they remember that ones achievements do not counter their mentality.
I am now anxiously waiting upon some kind of answer or report. I asked them to watch my, “BPD” vlog on my YouTube channel because what I said and how I felt whilst filming that at 4am at my parents house for sanctuary, most likely describes me better then I did in that tiny room with two male strangers. My fate is in their hands, I shall report all as soon as I am informed. Please see my BPD vlog below and watch it and share it, if you may?

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