Sometimes I feel so debilitated that I am stuck in the same spot,
Watching people pass me by,
They’ve hit the jackpot,
I try to walk, swim, run or fly,
But cannot,
I wonder why,
As they drift further and further,
They shine brighter and brighter,
As I stand nighy,
They all leave as I am stuck and stay,
It seems to them I merely fade away.
I am full to the brim with love,
And compassion,
Ideas of creativity,
Fall endlessly from me,
But ultimately amount to nothing,
Because I’m stuck,
After too frequently being pulled apart and ripped,
My fragile heart,
The cruelty in this world,
For it I’m not equipped.
I can’t be a travelling star,
Follow my loved ones wherever they are,
Oblivious with innocence they leave me behind,
Each leaving lacerations that scar,
So bright to the eye I can see them all,
Near or far,
Travelling at great speed of light,
The science doesn’t spark or work if you are stood still,
Weighted with being ill.
“Just Move”,
You say,
Because you don’t see the force around me,
The cause of my fragility,
Ill mental health holds me in captivity,
A fooling powerful force cloaked with invisibility,
Holding firmly to the key,
Of any possibility that I may be set free,
And share the phenomenal me that I know I could be,
Yet it knows and relishes that the world will never see.
Perhaps invisaging my art as powerful and healing is delusional,
My twisted tongue of metaphor,
Is not transparent enough to be relatable,
Or even palatable,
Because I’ve been sharing for a while now,
And no one seems to hear me clearly,
But the words keep coming,
So I gots to keep regurgitating,
I may not shine in this lifetime,
But the way my pain turns into verse,
Chorus and rhyme,
Has to connect somehow with this universe,
A blessing or a curse,
This misery,
Perhaps will be understood in time unknown to me,
And left in legacy.

Not your average patient…

Read between the lines,
This does not mean judge.
Don’t preempt.
See me,
Not my medical records.
Articulation and intelligence are not inaccessible due to mental illness,
Mental health does not diminish integrity,
Trauma does,
Not only the impact before you get out your pen and paper,
Flick through the pages of text from psychiatry books that remain in your mind from years ago,
And have not been updated nor refreshed,
But your stigma,
Makes me ill,
Your lack of seeing me,
Makes me cry,
You are not a shoulder nor a rock that I can lean upon,
Or rely,
So I continue to suffer,
But I hold back and lie,
Because I don’t want to frequent your units,
Have you in and out of my house,
I’d rather get a blade out,
Suffer in silence,
Bleed out,
Not utter a word of it and cover up when you are scheduled to reach out.
Mental health system,
You never fail to disappoint.
My silence says much more than you realise.
My words rattle your cage,
You cannot process when I protest.
If my knowledge exceeds yours,
You switch to flight,
Say oh she’s not ill,
She’s alright.
I’m complex,
But this is not a test,
And should not be a fight,
I am more than your ignorance and outdated opinion,
I’m the one that may slip away in the night.
This is more than 9-5,
This is my fucking life!

Worms Meat

I’m sorry that I get lost,
And for whatever cost that conjures up for you.
Just hear me now when I say that it is never my intention to hurt you,
Just like the pain you often unconsciously & constantly impact upon me.
Suffocated by the waves of the sea,
Unable to speak,
Reach out,
Lungs first filled with dispair,
Now lacking oxygen and air,
No one anywhere,
To help me,
No one sees me,
No one hears me,
No rescue,
And even if…
No remedy,
So with great tragedy,
I am taken,
Before you awaken to the facts of BPD,
Recognise how your actions,
Or lack of,
Have affected me.
How you may have triggered me relentlessly,
Saying you’d be there,
But keeping your distance from me,
Making me feel a menace,
Because my times of despair don’t suit thee.
How you showered me with assumptions,
False testament that you care,
Would always be there.
No professional support,
Lacking supervision,
Troubled mind,
Troubled soul,
Constantly fighting,
In competition,
Against the dark.
Beginning to dream of the light,
The dark reigns to tight,
Engolfed me,
Dumping me,
Abandoning me eternally,
I die,
Fighting until the last breath of my life,
Which I have taken,
Keen to try the unknown,
As ripped apart,
My connection to this world no longer sewn.
Typically late,
Perhaps once gone my transparency shall be found,
And then you will hear my story,
And perhaps understand me,
Learn from me and my legacy,
Help others whom are like me,
As my archives will be available for eternity,
And I hope I won’t be bitter,
All will be forgiven,
Despite your triggers of rejection,
Inability to understand when I needed you to help me,
Ultimately making worms meat of me.
I may leave this mortal coil,
But my soul shall shine eternally.


I have a vortex of solemn energy that lingers above my soul and heart,
No vacuum of pills nor therapy can suck it away,
Nor positivity can shrink it,
Or banish it,
Trick it,
Or lead it astray.
No one can be more frustrated about this than I,
I constantly try to shift it,
But its tangled and knotted roots,
Are so thick and deep,
They have tricked my body into thinking they belong.
I want to run,
I want to hide,
But there is no getting away from this,
It’s in me,
Part of me,
This giant tardis,
Of numbness and misery,
Why it chose me is a mystery,
But I know in my heart,
That I will never be free,
As each day it gets more firmly rooted,
Holds me back from my potential destiny,
Deviding me from my friends and family.
Alone I must suffer and endure this,
Riddled in pain,
Watching life go by,
And all the things that I will miss,
Because there is no escaping this.
This poison will stay with me for as long as I exist.
I did not ask for this.
I do not relish in it.
I did not choose to be a host.
You think I am self indulged and selfish,
Able to set myself free,
Embrace love and be happy.
Oh how you are wrong!
I did not invite or agree,
For this curse to be bestowed upon me,
To live life in constant misery,
It chose me!
You’ll never understand it unless you also have experience it,
And so the fact that you don’t,
Ignites relief within me,
I would rather your frustration,
And gradual segregation,
Then for you to have to live through the same as me,
In order to fully understand me.
As this black hole of darkness eats away at me,
I would not even wish it upon my biggest enemy,
The constant…
Chronic pain,
The tears,
The stress,
The darkness,
The paranoia,
Panic attacks,
Is not the type of life that I would wish for me,
Or anybody,
But I caught it,
And resentfully,
I must undergo all that comes with it.
The vortex,
The black hole,
Of ill mental health,
Eats away at you,
Until one way or another,
There is nothing left of you,
And seemingly no way out!

I Do…

I hate conflict,
Yet I still seem to make people upset,
For this I apologise,
I promise it is not my intention.
Perhaps I struggle with boundaries,
Perhaps I am to easily trusting,
Far to dependant,
A little wreck less,
Or all of the above,
But my intentions are pure,
Of this I can assure you.
I seek enemy’s not,
I want people to adore.
Despite being fully consumed with love to give,
Without personal choice,
I do struggle with receiving it.
I welcome love.
I want to be loved.
I think I deserve it.
A romantic relationship,
Air tight friendships.
But the reality is,
Some of us are simply not destined for love,
Intensely misunderstood,
And therefor undesirable.
What can I do,
But be honest and true,
You cannot make someone love you!
The notion of saying, “I DO”,
Seems increasingly untrue,
The baby that I crave,
Just a dream,
But I am still holding onto some hope,
That things may evolve more positively then things have been,
And currently seem.


The paint has gone,
The filter erased,
The ink has run.
In an instant,
From a wonderful friend,
To an awful bitter end.
I don’t understand the unrecognisable someone that you had become!?
From someone,
To no one,
In a flash,
In a heartbeat,
From a gentle butterfly,
To an erupting volcano.
Your face red like lava,
Your talk hot like ashes.
Harsh words,
I shall not hear or endure no more!
Not once but twice,
You have driven me to tears,
Yet only friends for a matter of months,
Not years!
And so the story ends,
Because I cannot pretend,
And I have no energy to make amends’.


You will find a link to my YouTube channel at the bottom of this post, please check out my new vlog entitled, “Circles”.
Beforehand, please see two poems that I wrote in relation to two pop songs (Cyndi Lauper’s True Colours and Rhianna’s Stay) that inspired me for a spoken word performance. You will also find a live recording of that performance on my YouTube page, under, “NO ONE & KK!”

True Colours…

I live in a multi-coloured world.
A diverse universe,
A parody of the Planet we Human’s call earth.
I see beauty in your sadness,
And sadness in your smiles.
Of cause there is tragedy but mostly comedy,
No poverty,
No hierarchy,
No monastery,
No political parties,
No war,
No prejudice,
No racism,
No hate crime!
Saying this out loud, of cause it is pure fantasy,
Perhaps this is why I am certified crazy!?
But I see your true colours,
And I know in which world I would rather be!


Even in my world there is heartache,
Yes, even in my multi-coloured world!
Like glass it shatters into pain wrenching particles,
Leaving an “Ora” of only black!
Your heart stops beating,
A heart attack.
The pain projected upon you seeps through your skin,
Into your blood,
And swims through your veins.
Asphyxiated by abandonment,
Turned ice cold,
Blue upon rejection.
Life’s meaning fades,
Imprisoned by love lost.
There is only one remedy,
That he will come back to me,
Come back to me and stay!
His return determines my fate.
Oh please come back,
Come back and stay!?


Sun is fun but not a cure!!

Your frustration with me will not cease my symptoms,
Your hostility will not snap me out of it.
Your acceptance would be wonderful but how could you do so,
If you remain on the fence,
Or put up guards of offense.
If I cannot confide in you,
If I cannot speak of how I really feel,
Then I cannot be real with you.
I am suppressing,
Avoiding confessing,
And it both hurts and tires me.
I am passive,
I don’t want to fight.
I just want us all to get along and feel alright,
More then alright!
How many tears must I hide.
This code of conduct,
Grin and bare it,
I feel I cannot much longer abide.

“… I defy you stars!”

You keep saying, “Tell me, don’t hide from me”. Whenever I try, it is to difficult. I know that the world does not revolve around me, in fact I often wonder why I am in this world at all. How is it that after bruise, after strain, after fracture, after broken, that I can still produce what we call love? How is it that after each poke, prod, push and fall, I keep getting back up? How is it that in just one day, a mere twelve hours, I can go from way up high to way down low over and over again. If you know and accept that I am sick, why do you only come when the plot gets thick? To only pop up when I am in hospital, you needn’t bother at all. To only get in touch when I post my misfortunes on social media, you needn’t bother at all. It is every single day that I battle my mental health problems. It has been every single day for so long, that I have not had the luxury of silence but been overwhelmed by the likes of claps of thunder drilling in my ears. It must be exhausting to know and love me, it most definitely is for myself. What you may consider small, is so huge in my life. Let downs. Rejection. Abandonment. I have become accustum to such things. I now only expect such things. “I am fortunes fool, I defy you stars!”

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!