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.

Botched Up Bodies…

I have always hated my breasts. They have always been large in size but the bigger the natural breast, the less kind gravity can be. That is a fact. I have always blamed my mother for encouraging me to sleep without a bra on as a teenager, whilst developing. Truth be told, I doubt that notion made to much difference, but it is easier to blame your mum then an anonymous God or fate!
I have always said, that if I win the lottery or come into money, I will be straight down the plastic surgeon’s. Boob uplift, liposuction, laser cellulite remover, the list goes on, the whole shebang! People say just exercise more or eat less. People say an awful lot! The reality is, I can honestly say that all of my ailments are not self inflicted. I do exercise. I eat rather well. Looking back at my pictures in my twenties, I looked fabulous, but even then I was body conscious. People have always picked on me for my weight, even as a child. Those voices are never silenced and will haunt me to the day I die. My issues are not just physical but mental because of being traumatised by criticism about my shape, size, appearance, looks, being dumped by partners or nagged by family members. I never got to truly and confidently enjoy my size when it was rather good. I used to have a natural four pack! I doubt that is ever coming back. One can wish, but actually, I would rather four kids.
Age has of cause played it’s part, like it does upon everyone else, but also depression has ignited comfort eating in the past, I used to sleep eat, sleep walk to the cupboards, snack and wake up feeling sick from poorly digested food and crumbs in my bed. Thank goodness that stopped, but now with BPD, depression, anxiety, psychosis, I have to take an awful lot of medication to steady my mood and weight gain is a side effect.
It is no secret that I self harm. I believe this makes me a little less screamish then most, but watching the inspiring weight dropper Josie Gibson under the knife on celebrities botched up bodies, the surgery really made me feel sick. Josie was asleep through all of it and woke up looking great but I am now in two minds. Not like I can afford surgery anyway but it has definitely opened my eyes to the seriousness of cosmetic surgery. Surgery is surgery and always life threatening.
I suppose that if I was fortunate enough to truly make a decision, under the knife or not under the knife, I am single and thirty-two with suicidal tendencies, if I am going to die, I wouldn’t mind dying whilst trying to look hot. I would wake up hot or wake up not. Chances are, it would be the first, then maybe I could find a man to love me, in this cruel, judgemental and shallow world that we live in. Most importantly, after thirty-two years of failing, maybe, just maybe, I could learn to love myself. I have a lot of love for everyone else but have never loved myself. If nothing else, it would be great to embrace that feeling.

Left Sore…

Stranded and alone,
I felt scared,
All of my positivity disappeared.
Let down,
I could not fathom your mood,
Left as easy bate,
I was lucky to have not been pursued,
As I sat crying,
No idea where I was,
In the dark,
At an unfriendly time.
The truth is,
I am not well,
Even the slightest trigger,
Could send me to hell!
The incident plays and replays in my head,
Just a little hiccup for you,
Drove me to despair,
Nearly ending up dead.
And yet still no apology,
How very disappointing,
And unfair,
Did you even care?
Now safe,
Home at last,
Yet the memory of the incident,
I cannot put down to the past!
It will stay in my head forever more,
Emotionally bruised,
And very sore.

Salty Face

Sometimes I cry,
Hot tears stream from my eyes,
Snot drops from my nose,
I shake,
I open my mouth,
Gasping for air,
Not a sound,
Not a whisper,
No one to tell,
Can’t find the words to say anyway.
My salty face.
My broken heart.
Heavy eyelids,
I fall into a deep slumber.
When I rise,
It happens all over again,
And again,
And again.

Tonight you may sleep with the stars as tomorrow you will embark upon a new adventure xxx

A baby is born,
Thus begins the circle of life,
We celebrate.
Like fireworks we struggle and stumble,
Fall and get up again,
Make our journey through life.
We die,
We commiserate,
The never ending circle of life.

As I stare at the moon and and the stars,
Feel the breeze gently brush against my skin,
I try to connect and be with you somehow,
Feel you somehow.
Like lit lanterns floating up into the sky,
My memories escape me with each exhale that I take.
Connected,
I share them with you tonight because I need to be sure that you both knew and know how much I loved you.
Tomorrow we lie your body to rest,
Set you free to roam the galaxy and far beyond,
Whether it be heaven, the white place reincarnation or some other place unimaginable,
Don’t hang around to long for us.
We set you free.
Be free.
And one day, we shall meet again.
Until then,
with all of the love that we have in our hearts for you.
Please take comfort and pride yourself in knowing,
Our love for you will never die nor shall you ever be forgotten.
Rip, my Grandad John XXX

child

Lay on her side,
This lazy child,
Sighed ever so slightly,
Usually feral and wild,
Just a girl,
Tears streamed out,
As she cried.