A Diary From Noone

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

Tag: #heart

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.

Dancing out 2017

Sitting on the frosted curb,
Left with a sprinkle of premature December snow,
Whilst delicately seperating my festive mince pie,
Like breaking bread in church,
Preparing bite size portions,
In order to waste not,
And leave not,
A telling trail of crumbs and succulent fruit.
Tis Yuletide once more!
2017 has passed with the lightening speed of a Polaroid camera flash,
Had me Waltzing around the ballroom,
Frantically changing style,
The purposeful march of the Tango,
The military Quick Step,
The merriment of Jive,
Freestyle contemporary,
Dirty Meringue,
Repetative schottische,
The Rumba in my feet,
The Samba in my mind,
Picking up pace,
And then falling behind,
The manic Quick Step,
And monotonous Two Step,
Frozen in the Spotlight,
And dancing in the rain,
All in twelve months,
My very own,
“Marathon ’33” endurance test,
Bewildered at how I ended up in this wretched contest!?
Competing with my past,
Struggling in the present,
Unenthusiastic about the future,
Fatigue engulfing both my body and mind,
Whilst the other contendors race ahead,
Leaving me behind.
Finally,
I sit,
I notice that my bruised and swollen feet,
Pang in tune with the beat of my mirroring heart,
My exterior,
In this delicate moment,
Where I have stolen a moment,
To stop,
Paints a picture of a tired,
Yet recovering soul,
But let it fool you not,
As I am still stuck down the rabbit hole,
It is here when I decide whether I want to crawl out,
And I do,
Without a shadow of a doubt,
But tis a complicated process,
I cannot merely scream and shout,
Rely fully on others to get me out,
But your love,
Support,
Empathy,
Consideration,
Patience,
And understanding,
Would help the log fire of my being,
Not fully burn out,
Give me the motivation to get up,
And keep dancing it out,
Demanding change,
As I dance free of the chains,
That have held me captive this 2017.

J

When you sobbed,
I cried for you,
Not realising that I was crying for me to!
Only sixty,
Not old at all,
In our day and age,
But your brain is at such an older stage,
You barely engage,
You get so forgetful,
You are so vulnerable,
Rather more like a child then a lady,
Unable to process,
You come across a little crazy,
But you are so sweet really,
Fraustrating at times,
But impossible to dislike.
Your husband honours your wedding vows,
He is dedicated unconditionally to you,
There to support you,
Committed like clock work,
It must be hard for him,
Having to witness,
As everyday you let a little more go,
He truly loves you so,
He visits and calls you every single day,
I only hope that I will find someone to love me that way.
My family don’t know the half of it,
Where to start,
What to do,
What to say,
I often wonder if they would miss me if I went permanently away?
Always polite,
Never wanting to offend,
Whilst I still can,
I just pretend,
Pretend that I am ok!
Year after year,
As things get worse,
And I have to endure this heartless curse,
A pattern seems to emerge,
I’m well,
Then unwell,
And well again,
But never truly the same,
Qualities get lost,
And I cannot regain,
Whilst circling around this gruelling chain,
Each fall leaves it’s mark,
Dulling my spark,
Regardless of where crisis springs from,
Rational,
Or frequently more so,
Irrational,
The consequences are real,
Not at all fun.
This rollercoaster of peaks and troughs,
Eats away at my heart,
My soul,
My brain,
And I can no longer maintain,
A fruitful life with out pain.
Are you the lady that I am to become?
Except the situation will be worse,
Because I do not have that special someone?
If so,
My future,
Be it long or short,
Is bleak,
I forget all together when I peak,
Hurtling through spells of mania,
But this fear eats away at me when I am weak.
This journey,
Alone,
Without a rock to lean upon,
Is a very sad one,
A life and future of only this,
Is a life not worth living,
That I want to run away from,
And escape!

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.

Cupid and His Arrow….

Is it possible that the well known master of enforcing romantic and undeniable love, Cupid, had siblings with opposite traits? Born from Venus, his mother who represented love, beauty, desire and fertility, and his father Mars who represented war,weapons and battles. It seems clear who Cupid got his traits from, his mother. Should there have been another child, born to the same parents, could his/her traits be quite the opposite of Cupid? Spreading heartache rather then love? I think it possible, as such a curse has been bestowed upon many a people! Equal, if not more than those who have found love!

They say that Cupid and his bow and arrow,
Match make,
Connect,
And bestow love upon you and another!
Be it a blessing?
Or be it a curse?
The myths suggest that The phantom known as Cupid,
Did indeed exist and conquer love.
Be his arrow infused with natural and herbal remedies,
Much like those used by Native Americans.
Dipped into Titania’s fairy made potions from the forests.
Blessed by the ritual of blood from those sacrificed,
Like in the times of Egyptian worship and offering’s to God.
Leaving the targets absolutely spellbound,
Hit by love,
Straight in the heart!
And thus is Cupid’s job.
Please contemplate the inevitability of there being an opposite being.
Like there is a high and there is a low,
There is an up and there is a down,
Big and small,
Love and hate,
There is always an opposite,
Did Venus and Mars,
Another creature make?
A being with a dark side,
Like the grim reaper,
Waiting in the shadows for easy prey,
Good,
Loving,
And vulnerable hearts to break?
I have been hurt,
Abandoned,
And rejected,
Far to many times.
It cannot be bad luck,
Cannot be a coincidence.
Something other then I and my prey,
Must play a part in this dismay.
Perhaps voodoo,
Or the Devils art,
I seem destined for a broken heart.
Yet it is the core of my art.
Fairy-tale’s and Rom Com’s may not be for me,
But I do feel that poetry is my destiny.

Heart, The Tin Woman…

They say that home is where the heart is,
If I have no heart,
I would therefor have no home.
Yet the heart is a compulsory mechanism,
It controls the entire body,
Without it we would not function,
It pumps
And pumps,
And pumps,
And pumps,
From the moment we are conceived,
To the moment we die.
Situated beneath our chests,
The only physical place a literal heart can be,
But mine resides on my sleeves,
not metaphorically,
But literally,
Beyond any possibility.
Exposed,
Unprotected,
Fragile,
And out of sync.
It defies Biology,
Physics,
And chemistry.
With this theory in mind,
Perhaps I cannot call it a heart,
Knowing where it is logistically.
Perhaps I am just different,
But I must accept,
That it is what it is,
A little complicated.
I am unable to love myself,
Which suggests I have no heart,
Unable to find my home,
Which suggests I have no heart,
But I am beyond capable of loving you,
Which means I may have a heart after all.
Ignore the location of my silly heart,
Just embrace the love that I have for you,
Give to you,
Feel for you,
Share with you.
I am unable to function as one alone,
Desperate to love and be loved in return,
And whilst I clink and clank through my life,
Like “The Tin Man” from “The Wizard of Oz”,
Perhaps I will discover that I did indeed have a heart all along,
And my home is in each and every one of you.
I love you,
You and your whole and uncomplicated heart’s,
And you,
You are my home!

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