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.

Low…

They say,
“Here today,
Gone tomorrow”.
One should feel relieved,
To rise,
When it be ‘morrow!
Yet with every new day,
For me,
My heavy heart,
Pangs with disappointment,
And wrenching sorrow,
The cycle never ends,
Nor does it thaw out,
Become hollow,
The lacerations are internal,
The exterior,
Just a front,
A show,
A cover Up,
For just how low,
I get,
And go.

Escaping Tomorrow…

Pitch black,
Panic attack.
The chains way me down,
Both in wait and in sound.
The lead like a noose,
Restricts me from movement.
Even if set loose,
Gates surround me,
Draped in barb wire,
They forbid me,
There is no escape!
All sounds are shrill,
Beckoning me to kill,
To kill myself,
Release myself.
Vocal chords crushed,
And brain power zapped,
I am in no fit shape for combat.
I cannot escape alone,
But I am stuck on my own.
Friends and family all light years away,
And so unassumingly I pray,
For this monster to quicken in pursuing me,
And so I can melt away.
Escaping tomorrow,
And forgetting about yesterday.

This link shows you the disappointing broken communication between patients and professional help in today’s society. Around 10% of people with Emotional Unstable Personality Disorder/ Borderline Personality Disorder die from suicide, I hope that you agree that those statistics are way to high! Please share this pink and help me raise awareness about seeking help and not receiving it. This link in the mental health system is broken, please help me try to fix it!?
On Friday 27th October, I reached out to my GP in person and Community Psychiatric Nurse on tge phone, disclosing to both, that I had suicidal and intrusive thoughts. I was told that help would call me that very same evening by tge GP. It got to 90m and i had not received contact. After initiating a further three calls to the crisis team, it took over fifteen hrs for me to receive a call back! This was unacceptable. It needs to change. I did my best, but certainly did not receive it in any away, shape or form. The prospect of how many lives could be lost in that time scares me!

Performing…

I thought that spoken word was so easy,
That being myself was the best kind of performing,
Because you write your own script,
Direct,
Produce,
Visualise,
Create,
Everything yourself,
But I fear that I may have been mistaken.
Performing is performing,
And performing I love you,
But my psychosis is now sabotaging my gift of creativity.
When you don’t have a character to hide behind,
Sharing your own art is a very difficult thing to do.
With my acting background,
With my head in the game,
Crowds don’t phase me,
I can deliver,
I like it,
I feel at home on the stage,
But I did not take my honesty into consideration,
My ill health into consideration.
I get so much pleasure from helping others,
Expressing myself creatively,
Reaching out to those curious, similar or exactly like me,
But have absoluteluy no idea how to help myself.
I wish my performance was a play,
But these days I showcase my own life,
And now it is over for a while,
I really feel the pain and strife.
The audience receive a short summary of what my life is like,
When it finishes,
For them it ends,
But I cannot escape my own life!
I didn’t realise at the time,
But I became an actor to take advantage of executing different emotions,
Emotions that as human beings we all need to express and feel,
Being emotionally unstable,
This was a playground for me,
Acting allowed me to play,
Experiment and release,
To feel emotions that we so desperately need to experience to progress,
And grow naturally.
Now speaking spoken word,
With Words That Are Nothing But True,
I have all of these emotions and I simply don’t know what to do.
So for now,
I decided to start with writing to you!
I have no regrets,
Only envy,
Hope helps troubled minds,
But I have been medically informed that my illness will always be a part of me,
With no escape,
A condemned eternity of misery.
A huge cloud now hangs above my destiny,
I am trying to process and accept the character that this makes me,
But this is not the way that I wanted things to be,
And I mustn’t fool myself that what lye’s ahead will be easy.

Even the help doesn’t help!

I don’t want to sound ungrateful and appreciate that there are many people out there who really need psychiatric care and do not receive it, but even when you are deep in the psychiatric system, when you are within the secondary level care unit, supposedly receiving sufficient support, when you have a community psychiatric nurse, a support worker, therapy, medication, even then; there are still so many mistakes made. You could wave a flag in front of, “The Help”, light it with fire and parade up and down in front of them, still not to receive the appropriate acknowledgment and required care.
I manage my various mental health symptoms to the best that I can. I take my medication. I try to eat well. Exercise. Laugh. Smile. Be honest and in touch with my feelings and symptoms.
Group therapy has been a bumpy ride since the beginning. I missed the first session as I got the times wrong. I cried inconsolably at the second and had to leave the room due to anxiety. The third was easier although still not as rewarding as I hoped, not enjoyable at all. I missed the fourth due to a separate engagement which was unavoidable. My personal fourth session was rather different, there were a few new faces (new peers tend to join every four weeks or so) and also a lady psychiatrist who was standing in for, “Merchant.” It was the first and last session that I actually quite enjoyed, in fact I had contemplated not going at all but it was half term and so my Mother personally took me there and collected me that week. It still felt very much like school, with all the don’ts and hardly any do’s.
“Peer’s must not leave the room throughout the entire session. Peer’s must raise their hand if they want to speak. Peer’s must do as instructed by the therapists. Peer’s must not take notes, even if just for themselves. Peer’s are restricted from using any technology like a phone or mp3 during the session. Peer’s must not leave to go to the toilet.”
I endured such rules over twenty-one years of education but therapy is not school! My peer’s and I are not children. I am sure that all of the rules were created to develop a safe environment but in fact it felt forced and surreal, like no other space that I have been in before. It made me feel claustrophobic, unsafe and extremely uncomfortable.
On Thursday 25th February 2016 I had been very organised and felt extremely pleased with myself. I organised transport to and from therapy and home. I was ready to get something/discover something/feel something that day. I was super early. I sat outside contemplating whether to vape or smoke. There was a really petite and kind lady that joined me outside, it was cold but the sun was shining. She spoke freely to me and it turned out that she was also attending the, “Building Emotional Resilience” group. When called into the room, I noticed the female therapist again.
Every group session began with, “Mindfulness” breathing. I had never really participated in it before that day. I found closing my eyes in a room full of strangers extremely daunting but this time, I tried. It is intended to be a calming and relaxing stimulant, like meditating. The technique is used to begin the session to unite both the peers and professional’s, to alleviate any tension from the week prior and bring down our anxiety levels that build up from the moment we leave group until the moment we return. This very same, “Mindfulness” exercise, meditation and focus strategy is used to keep us calm, ease our body’s minds and dare I say it, souls, perhaps worked far to well! I could still hear my usual psychosis voices that have been present and consistent for sometime but completely hypnotised, my lids became heavier and heavier and I could not snap out of it once the exercise was concluded. I was in a bizarre state of conscious and unconsciousness, my body slumped forward.
The therapist picked up on this and I can only describe her behaviour as pushy and challenging. She accused me of not being interested in the group. She probably came to this conclusion because I had felt comfortable enough to share my reservations the week prior, I thought the whole point was that we were supposed to be honest? She said that my sleepiness was offensive! I was responding but I cannot remember what I said exactly. Initially I was so consumed with tiredness but fighting it and trying to communicate. When I started to regain consciousness, I was surprised that we were still having a conversation. I tried to explain that if I wanted to just sleep, I would have just stayed at home, instead of making some serious effort to get there. I tried to explain that I had fallen asleep in group the first time and, “Merchant” just let me be. Finally, I tried to explain that my old therapist called my seemingly random acts of tiredness, a self taught disassociation technique. My brain often shuts down like a computer, if certain buttons are pushed. I have done it for as long as I can remember. It’s a subconscious thing, but I now understand it. I even used to do it at school, when lessons were tough, bullies were ridiculing me or during exams. I would have assumed that this information was in my notes? Yes the female therapist was standing in for another, but I would expect that she would have glanced at the profiles of my peers and I prior, at least once! She pushed and she pushed and she pushed until I began to cry inconsolably for the next hour or so until I felt so uncomfortable, so rejected, I left rather hesitant about ever going back after being treated that way. Even my peers stuck up for me.
I went home distraught. I had really wanted to put my whole self into group that day, and embrace all things therapeutic, despite the therapists impression.
I well and truly hit the border, the border of the line, borderline. Feeling deflated, defeated, unworthy, misunderstood, rejected and unimportant. Rationalism had well and truly gone out of the window, the dark cloud was not only hovering over my head but had sucked me into a vortex of a black hole where it had engulfed itself around all of me, I was smothered and consumed. The voices were on super drive, completely charged up from all of the negativity that the therapist had bestowed upon me. They were very much present, well they have been for weeks now but prior to this, I am not sure why. Perhaps a few difficulties and complications with friends were the trigger. Perhaps just struggling with the adjustment of the group therapy dynamic as oppose to individual. Perhaps there is no reason at all and it is simply just my psychosis, something that I have to learn to live with.
I went home and immediately took thirty pills back to back with a bottle of cider. I then attacked and struck my left arm with a razorblade and then decided to go to bed. The voices wanted me to kill myself. I just wanted to sleep off the horrible experiences of the day and be done with it, erase the day and in many ways, erase myself. I decided to call my someone, as I imagined that I would be unavailable soon. Still very much upset, through sobs and tears I told him what I had done, he called the ambulance and told me to contact my best friend. Both the paramedics and my friend arrived and I have no recollection of what happened since then.
After about 24hrs in hospital I was given a medical, physical and psychological all clear and discharged. It was decided that I would have daily visits from, “The mental health home treatment team whilst in crisis.”
My someone stayed with me throughout the weekend, keeping me safe and distracted.
Now of rational mind, I think of my loved ones and I very much regret my lack of restraint., but I know that this fight is not over. When psychosis, hallucinations, depression and anxiety get a firm hold of me, I only see darkness and all things good are forgotten. I am angry that trying to recover resulted into such a catastrophic scenario, and only hope that the trust can provide more of a suitable type of recovery procedure for me in the future.

01/03/16 In addition to what happened at group, I received a phone call from the very same female therapist that had upset me so much that it lead to suicidal behaviour. She told me that it would be best if I do not go back to group therapy. I asked if we could continue the conversation and weigh up my options when I had support with me (for back up and evidence). She said that she had a lot of meetings and so I felt obliged to continue. She said that it has been acknowledged that group therapy seems to be creating more problems for me, rather then being heeling. All things considered (the overdose) it would be best if I did not return. I tried to explain that it was not the group itself that lead to my self destructive behaviour, but her and her alone. Her harsh words and accusation’s, her challenging tactics made me feel rejected and abandoned. She said that the way I interpreted her style of delivery was not intended to upset me. I thought to myself, “I’m sorry… is that supposed to be an apology?” She clearly has no idea of the magnitude of distress that she has caused me, the evidence being the fact that she called me. Not as a follow up. Not to offer me options but to simply reject me all over again. My place in group has now been revoked, I am officially banned, no longer welcome and it has been decided for me! The phone call could have made me repeat my actions of the week prior. Why did She think it a good idea to talk to me ever again, especially with such bad news. If home treatment team were not due any moment, I fear that I may have been thrown back into the darkness that she initially activated in me. Rejected by this woman, once again. Unbelievable!

The Beast…

Today I feel the presence of the beast. I call depression the beast because it is the perfect name for it. It sprawls out over my body from head to toe, the burden of the weight makes me feel so heavy, I can’t get up out of bed. It’s teeth sink into my brain and like a virus, it filters its poison throughout my entire body. My eyelids are heavy, I cannot open them. Hypnotised and paralysed I lye down, asphyxiated and comatose, I just cannot get up. All plans unfulfilled, I lay in my bed. The law of physics expand beyond reason and gravity keeps me down. Like a pirate ship, my brain usually swings up and down, left to right, the highs and the lows. Today there is no light. No up’s. No highs. Merely darkness and only down. I want to get up. I want to do the things that I have to do. I can’t because I am bed ridden, with loss of all control, I simply cannot move. Drowsy, my state of mind drifts from conscious to unconscious repetitively. I need to eat. I need light and life but the beast holds me down!
The voices are constant. They urge me to take an overdose, to cut myself and bleed, bleed out until I die. With all of my might I plead to the beast, “Please let me go, let me get up, let me seek help?” He laughs and applies more pressure, weighs me down further.
I want to be well and able, I want to confide in someone, seek help but I now feel worthless, unworthy of any help at all. I turn my phone off and suffer in silence, give in to the beast that has devoured all hope.
Scared and so very alone, I wish with the little strength that I have left, I wish that these feelings will pass. I try to think of the good, caring, constant, stable, empathetic and loving people in my life. There are but a few, but a few all the same! The hope gets pushed down and I am left with only paranoia and doubt! Does anyone really care? All that I have is the beast, perhaps if I obey and succumb, he will be less nasty, less controlling. If I accept him, maybe his grasp will ease. I will do anything for this madness to stop. Anything. I cut and bleed and cry, then cut and bleed and cry, and then cut and bleed and cry some more. I seek calm, peace and contentment, it is all so very unobtainable until….until… until… it softens, the beast loosens his grip, my heartbeat starts to regulate, I can move! I can breath! He hasn’t gone, not completely but it’s over… for now!…

I feel so helpless… Wish me luck on this one!

Sometimes I really just don’t know what to do! I know that what comes up must come down but does it have to spiral so fast? Do I have to hit the ground so hard? I just don’t know what to do, and so I am trying to distract myself and heal by writing to you.
I have been having hallucinations on and off since Christmas. I keep seeing stuff out the corner of my eye. It’s almost like shadows, but shadows have to be cast by something right?
I just had a lovely weekend in the company of my new someone. I have been exercising. Sleeping well. Eating well. Doing everything tat normal and healthy people do.
Tonight I am alone for the first time in three day’s. I like my own company. The heating is on. I went to the gym today. I have had a bath and eaten my dinner but something dark has still surfaced.
I don’t want to burden my loved ones and those close to me by disclosing how I feel. I don’t want to worry people unnecessarily. If I try to articulate what is going on… I already know that, they wont get it. How can they? Even I don’t, and I am the one experiencing it.
It’s as if I am just not entitle to full blown, uncomplicated happiness. Thoughts and demons always get in the way. In good company, they are silenced but I am learning not to be fooled. All the badness just stores up and hits me in one go. I am paranoid about how I have come across, what silly things that I may have done and when darkness prevails, I feel like I am just a plague to everyone, that everyone would be so much happier without me in my life, and that deep down they realise this, which is why everyone always leaves. The suicidal feelings are then unavoidable. I look at the pills that I have in my kitchen and so far, little glimpses save me. I think about my mum, my step dad and my sister, I think about my new someone and a prospective future and whilst those images hold me back from darkness, the demons latch onto them by repeatedly saying that such people merely tolerate me, that they think they are fond of me, even love me, but if I leave, they will realise that being free of me will truly make them happy. How can I confess that to a loved one. They will try to persuade me otherwise, get offended that I am thinking so selfishly, so little of them, but it isn’t me. Yes these dark thoughts are mine, but they come from a place that I do not recognise.
So I have a bath, listen to music, watch TV. At the moment they are not strong enough distractions for me.
I self harm, try to take some control back. It starts to make me feel, feel something other then these nauseating thoughts and messages that I am in receipt of.
I cry.
I try to ease the three panic attacks that I have had over the past four hours by trying to regulate my breathing.
I plan to go and seek help tomorrow. Perhaps the professionals can shed some light. Perhaps their aid will rectify all the wrongs that are so dominant tonight. Perhaps this isn’t a relapse and a rather harsh reminder that I am still very much unwell.
Sometimes when in good company, I forget that I take all those bloody pills for a reason that if I am overcome with exhaustion, I must rest. I am entitle to, “A normal life” with, “normal” shenanigans, such as romance and socialising but I cannot block out the fact that I do suffer from various mental health problems. Such problems should not determine who I am and who I want t be, but they are indeed a very huge part of me, of who I am and who I am going to be.
The way that I feel is similar to the feel of being bullied. I can’t do right for doing wrong. Like tooth decay, I am rotting from the inside. It is painful and impossible to fight alone. There lies the catch, how can people help me if I don’t articulate what is going wrong? It is easier to tell a professional, they are impartial, they do not have sentimental ties towards me. They are familiar with what I am going through. They don’t always get it right but it’s worth a try as I know that I can’t fight this alone. I do not want to relapse. I do not want to put both my body and loved ones into trauma. I do not want to go back into hospital. I just want a peaceful and quiet time, to not feel invaded and helpless. Wish me luck on this one.
xx
Noone

Why not?

After a mismatched relationship with someone far to young, immature and from a family which nightmares are made of, the idea of starting again with someone new seemed an exhausting prospect. Being ill and in and out of mental health hospitals over the last three years, living in the unfamiliar city of where I grew up, but had never been my home as an adult. I was living a lonely, isolated and somewhat reclusive lifestyle. I never thought that I would meet someone that could potentially be a romantic flame! With it being winter and Christmas around the corner, an empty social calendar and nothing but wind and rain outside, like anyone would… I felt lonely and felt a raging envy towards anyone who was fortunate enough to have a spooning partner! Lol!
I recently met someone online, it didn’t take long to sift threw the odd bods and find my new Prince. I had corresponded with a few guys, filtering the few good from the many bad. After experiencing way to many, “Dick Pics” then I cared for, guys asking me out on a date and then deleting my profile, chatting to men with babies, drug problems, anger management problems, foot fetishes, sex addictions, online dating seemed so far removed from the realms of reality.
The men were more entertaining then anything else. It was like the cyber version of EastEnders and I had the lead female role. (Anyone who knows me, knows how much I love EastEnders!) Somehow, whilst trawling through the non compatibles, I found the guy that I now call my boyfriend (it seems so strange to say it, sometimes surreal, I have to pinch myself on a daily basis as my low self esteem makes the reality of exclusively dating a man, a real human being, an actual gentleman has only been a fantasy for quite sometime.) The idea of someone liking me, accepting me, finding me physically attractive, wanting to get to know me, spend time with me seems so surreal as I have become accustom to being used, mistreated, disrespected, rejected and abandoned by men. Yet somehow the genre of the orientation of my online dating experience changed from. “Soap” to “Fairy-tale”. It’s early days but I really have made a connection with someone, a really lovely someone. As undeserved of this as my demons, paranoia and insecurities may make me feel, I will not let this one go without trying.
It’s no secret that I am unwell, that I have both manic and depressive episodes, that I am susceptible to psychosis and hallucinations, that I have attempted suicide more times then I can count on my one hand over the last three years, that I have self harming and self destructive tendencies and a rather vicious dermatological illness but none of these things seems to phase him. (He sounds a little to good to be true right? I promise that he is real not just someone that I have conjured up from my head, as other people have seen him, yes, sane people!)He has taken me from face value and seems to accept all of me, every last bit, from good to bad. This has already helped me start to look at myself in a new light, a more positive light.
I am a romantic idealist but I am no fool. Relationships have come and gone in my past and they will most likely do in my future but I don’t want to fixate on that. I am trying out just living in the moment, the present. Whatever illness I may or you may not have, it does not have to exclude us from happiness and companionship. After all, love is the best drug known to man. It’s not the right way round but I have always been a bit upside down. If someone else can like you, maybe you should/could like yourself. If someone else can love you, maybe you should/could love yourself. If others don’t segregate you from such possibilities, don’t segregate yourself. An illness does not a whole person make. Don’t let it restrict you from such possibilities. Maybe, just maybe there is enough out there for all of us. Whether it be romantic, platonic, from family or other, if you open yourself up to it, you might just receive it.
Mental health problems can be soul destroying, have us riddled in pain and surrounded by sadness, forming positive relationships just might give us the incentive that we need to wake up another day.
So reader, please open yourself up to new things this new year, join me and you may also find some happiness. Depression cuts us off, we fear that all doors are shut and locked and we feel stuck but what if one opens? You don’t know until you try. Worst case scenario, your fears were true, which wont come as a surprise to you. Should it open though… who knows what is in store for you?
Keep sane, be true to yourself, be strong,

Love from Noone. xx

I die alone…

Why is it that I am consumed with misery and destined for misfortune? A rotten egg, the runt of the litter, I was dealt the hand of disappointment. No matter which direction that I take, all rotes are filled with poison. Given an enormous heart, full of love, crushed and never to be loved in return. I repel all potential suiters. From family to friends and lovers, deserted by all and destined for a life alone. There is no remedy. My heart was built to love, but cursed, I shall never receive it. My heart, like a machine propels, searches and targets those to love but unsuccessful, self combusts. Crushed. I feel the heavy pangs in my chest. How cruel is natures path? To allow me to love so deeply and desire almost desperately, yet nothing in return. People don’t understand. How could they, if they don’t know this pain. I wish it upon anyone. I do not wish an explanation upon them, why burden them with my woes? I was born Alone and alone I shall die. Smothered with rejection from my very first day. My love like an infection. I pledge just to love and be loved in return but receive nothing but cold isolation. As to why, I shall never know. Banished to the outskirts of society. Out of sight, out of mind. They forget me, whilst all I do is think of them. Driven to madness, I slowly fade away. Unloved, without partner nor child, just a void of unhappiness. Wither, wither, I die alone.