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.

Covid-19 versus Mental Health

Speaking to fellow people that suffer from ill mental health, the overwhelming feeling of lock down and isolation, which is such an alien concept for most people, not at all sound of mind to contend with, is a very much unwanted first for many but actually the norm for many people whom suffer from ill mental health. Social anxiety/depression/psychosis often isolates mentally vulnerable, especially single people. These symptoms often lead to self isolation, triggering loneliness and paranoia, boredom, weight gain, weakening of the immune system. Loneliness can kill. This is an unfortunate pandemic but also a lesson in the usual day to day life of many of our mentally ill and vulnerable. What a horrid but memorable way of wearing shoes on the other foot. Hopefully when the world pulls through to the other side, remember this feeling and contact the vulnerable loved ones in your life.
My paranoia has been high for a while. What really upset me is that I have tried to safeguard myself by being in the company of my partner, but it is a fair distance from my abode, trying to get enough medication to see me through a few weeks, to avoid public transportation and leaving the house has not been permitted. Yet in the past when I have travelled abroad, there was no problem. Maybe they thought I was being over dramatic/sensitive; paranoid, and I wish they were right but it seems my paranoia is warrented, only as anticipated, I am in no state to trek and beg once more. I appreciate them holding the reigns on controlled drugs but their inability to stick to a decision, giving me false hope and then wasting my time has made me more ill than taking a weeks worth of meds in one go would have done.
Everyone is paranoid, fearful of the unknown but I’ve been wearing masks since last year as my OCD has esculated and remained untreated. I am frightened to go out and use public transport and no calming words or percentages will ease the panic running through me. What happens if I cannot force myself out, if I run out of meds?
Ultimately I know that this virus is like nothing we have ever personally been through. Please telephone/text/video chat and check in on your loved ones. At times like these, it is easy to forget that you are loved and I bet you are. If you are going stir crazy and feel you have no one to talk to… Please just message me.
#bekind #togetherwearestrong #dontbeselfish #declareyourlove

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.

Meteor…

The weather man likens to the psychic,
The rainfall likenes to the excretion of blood,
The thunderstorm is depression.
I am the teacher but also the student,
I haven’t planned the lesson, It is too late to learn,
The lack of resources prevent rehabilitation,
The meteor is now in sight,
Mission obliteration,
With a sharp cry,
The chapters and lanes of my mind dissolve,
This is the end,
And it cannot be resolved.

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.

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.

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.