A Diary From Noone

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

Tag: #psychiatrichospitals

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!

Institutionalised

This song was written within the confinement’s of institutionalisation. They have sectioned me but they may never section my creativity. I thank my wonderful, generous, caring, patient friends for their emotional and creative support. They came with the tools to temporarily fix my wings and accompany them whilst soaring the sky. What a view, what a feeling, what an honour. I thank the five of you for your magnificence xxxx
Have a listen…

Listen to INSTITUTIONALISED WITH VISITORS by noone adiaryfromnoone #np on #SoundCloud

If you believe in the power of creativity and expression, have an interest in memtal health, please look at my fundraising pledge and share/donate xx

https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/jade-laurie-hart?fb_action_ids=10154847961099221&fb_action_types=og.comments&fb_source=other_multiline&action_object_map=%5B1257924794295228%5D&action_type_map=%5B%22og.comments%22%5D&action_ref_map=%5B%5D

This was last year’s,it was amazing and with your help, it came be again.

DEMAND CHANGE…

Scroll to the bottom if you would prefer to listen, otherwise… happy reading. Please share this one, it means an awful lot to me. Thanks for visiting, come back soon!? XX

DEMAND CHANGE!

If the last four years are anything to go by,
Excuse me as I start to cry,
Because my psychologist told me that I will have this monster of an illness for the entirety of my life!
What!?
I see her every three months or so,
Go in,
Come out,
Who knows what the fuck we talk about!?
I am just another number,
Case load,
For her to box and shelf,
To prove to the bankers’ that I have been seen and “helped”,
But she hasn’t,
Helped me, that is!
Help ignites hope,
But she blew out my candle when she condemned me to an eternity of helpless misery.
I shout my woes,
Confess my sins,
Tell them all of the out’s and in’s,
But they neither see nor hear me,
Not one of all of the professionals that supposedly support me,
They just give me more pills to sooth me,
No,
Silence me!
People in my very small social and immediate family network ask that I at least communicate with them before battling with self-destruction,
But how can I purposefully burden my friends and family?
Firstly, If I disclose all the intricate details of my intense suffering,
I fear that they may section me,
And believe me,
I have been institutionalised enough times already!
The full truth,
The whole truth,
Nothing but the truth,
Will make people not want to speak or listen to me.
And so I write,
And I write,
And I write.
I may not be as articulate and witty as the professional’s,
Lack in vocabulary somewhat,
Be short of the spark that creates recognition and popularity,
A magnitude of followers,
The camera skills to go viral,
The voice of an angel,
Musicality like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart,
But this is my art!
Speaking from the heart,
Everything that I say is true.
It may be a matter of preaching to the converted for now,
I see you nodding your head,
Taking in every word that I have said,
Thank you,
Give me an Amen!?
The budget cuts in the mental health system,
The up rise in mental health patients,
The increase in the number of people with mental health problems on the streets,
Scrapping for food to eat,
As if they don’t already have enough problems.
The black hole between help in the community and hospital admittance,
The loss of mental health control,
Less beds,
More med’s,
The increase in suicide!
I struggle to cope every single day!
I see and hear things that other people can’t,
Lucky them!
I don’t eat,
I don’t sleep,
I don’t shower,
Brush my hair or teeth,
Or I eat too much,
Sleep too much,
OCD kicks in and you could seriously eat off my dustbin!
I cry,
I panic,
I hallucinate,
I self-harm,
I hate myself,
And contemplate suicide most days!
If you have to ask why?
You haven’t been listening!
If you find my revelations a bit intense,
Then I am truly sorry,
But this is the reality,
My reality,
My life story forever more,
As my never ending diagnosis of;
BPD,
Depression,
Anxiety,
And Psychosis has been bestowed upon me for eternity!
I long for the times when I could distinguish the difference between bad days and good.
I once had the capability to actually believe in myself.
I have always had ill mental health,
First therapy session at twelve,
On pills since sixteen,
But there was still enough space in my life to dream,
Even moments when I conquered,
But I am no longer on this planet for me,
But for the people who love me!
Even though they may not fully know or understand me,
I can forgive them for that,
I do not fully know or understand myself,
But for some reason,
Some amazing people do actually love me!
And so I am very confused by this but recognise their love,
And therefor I am extremely thankful and lucky.
I fear and feel for those that have no one,
Those that receive no love at all and feel weak because of this.
Think about how isolating it is for those that have absolutely no one to share their experiences with.
There are people that have no one to aid their struggles with physical and psychological pain.
It is my pleasure and self-administrated duty to share with and represent my fellow Borderline’s,
Depressive’s,
The Anxious,
My neighbours The Schizophrenic’s,
The Bi-Polar’s,
And all of the above,
All of you,
The list is as long as my battered and bruised arms.
It takes personal experience to understand sometimes,
But you do not need a degree to practice listening or conjure empathy.
You do not need to be mentally ill yourself to acknowledge how integral mental health is in our society.
As a result of increased and continuous budget cuts in a financially deprived yet desperate area of NHS Health,
People are dying every single day.
This is a fact that deeply saddens me to say,
But this is an increasing problem that will not just calm down and go away.
We must unite and demand change.
Demand change.
DEMAND CHANGE!
With change we can help people very much in need.
With change we can potentially cut down the suicide.
With change tomorrow may not seem as grey!

Ohhh what a night!

I can smell the smoke,
I know it wasn’t me,
The girl next door,
Most likely.
The lights are buzzing,
Fellow patients are fussing,
I hear the staff dismissing,
Like their problems are nothing,
More focussed on parading,
Invading the privacy of the quiet ones like me.
I’m itching and twitching,
The stress got me glitching,
For peace sake,
I am thinking of snitching.
When’s medication?
I need some Zopiclone for sedation,
And if I am honest,
Some laxatives for constipation.
It’s quiet for a moment,
Oh no…
Then the alarms start sounding off,
Next doors at it again,
I contemplate,
Then loudly annunciate,
It’s fucking number ten,
I know she’ll kick off
But my doors locked.
She’ll only forget,
Calm down and spark up again.
Thus lye’s the circle of this particular hellish night.
I rate the NHS,
But this new bloody smoking ban!?
I wish I could go private,
Some place abroad,
If only I could afford.
During all of this,
I’ve been to the clinic and back.
The medication kicks in,
Alas it has suddenly gone quiet,
As to why?
Oh…..
I’m fast asleep.

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