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

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

29 days to raise £900

After a complete and utter break down the other night, the poem attached came to me whilst calming down. Live from a psychiatric ward, please click here link and here how I felt at that exact moment.
Please also take note that I am running out of crowdfunding time and although very greatful for all that has been donated so far, I would like to push for more.
I am trying to do a good thing. Please help me make it happen!?

Listen to Lay Dormant… by noone adiaryfromnoone #np on #SoundCloud

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Much love,

No One

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.

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!

Don’t believe me, but it’s true…

As an individual, does seeing, hearing or believing in something that others have not experienced, that is not recognised on a universal scale, does that make the individuals experiences untrue? Are my accounts of experiences that are slightly out of the ordinary, perceived as irrational and put down to an over active imagination because I am diagnosed with various mental health problems? Is it easier for you to dismiss the strange things that are currently happening to me? Write it off and expect me to shut up and put up?
People believe in, “God” an omniscient presence of light and good, live their whole lives trying to please the almighty that they have never even seen or had personal contact with. Science is based in facts, research and evidence, yet the population are torn in believing that the world we live in was either created by God or a matter of chance, the big bang theory. I am not writing about this to discredit anyone’s beliefs. Information is available and people pick what makes sense to them. I could happily sit down and listen to arguments about both accounts, take from it what I will, by being open minded to all possibilities. I wish people had that attitude when it comes to my mental health and wellbeing!
Medically, my recent experiences would be recognised as audio and visual hallucinations, caused by psychosis. From an extreme religious point of view, my experiences would be classed as being possessed by evil spirits. Paranormal activity specialists would describe my experiences as paranormal activity, ghosts, aliens and so on. Sleep therapists may call it lucid dreams. Truth be told, I need intervention and at this point I am less concerned about why things are happening and want to know how and for what reason? What I am experiencing is most definitely out of the ordinary and very real, but because my latest type of symptoms are random and uncommon, no One, not the professional mental health people or my nearest and dearest understand. I have tried to relay my experiences and only received frustration and dismissal in return. I am scared, confused and don’t know what to do, but write on here and simply hope that someone else who has experienced or understands my latest woes, can help and release me from these exhausting, haunting and seemingly inexplicable episodes.
Last night, now the second or third time, I felt pressure on the bottom if my bed, simultaneously with a sound like a thud, something had jumped onto my bed. This startled me but I could not move. It then walked upto my face, smelling my breath, I tried to turn my head away and scream to startle the creature but could not move at all. I bravely managed to open my eyes. I discovered a large, shabby furred, black cat. A part of me was glad to not see a rat but at the same time, I very much hate cats and must stress that I live alone and without pets. I felt it’s fur on my face, it’s breath as it snuffed around and almost the touch of a cold and wet nose. I cold not move it, myself or make a sound. This happening just once, I could put down as a random experience, even a dream but to happen again, it was very real I finally broke free of paralysis and quickly turned on the light, somewhat disappointed to see nothing at all.
That incident plus the combination of seeing huge black spiders scuttle across the living room floor throughout the days, plus deafening sounds of music and parties when I try to go to sleep, have had me unbalanced for around ten days. Plus the incident with the self harm and blood in the kitchen, which I still have no recollection of happening. I think it would be fair to say, something isn’t right. So much so, that I don’t want to go to sleep. The tears, the panic attacks and self harm have all escalated because I am at a loss and been offered no extra support or explanation. Friends often say, call me when you are down. How on earth do you call someone and explain all this? How much can I share with the professionals before they put me back in hospital!?
I decided to google the cat scenario and I was surprised to see that, that experience is actually a thing. I found no consistent answers but people out there have experienced the same thing, some believe it to be the spirit of the cat that was once there pet, others call it an angel in animal form, others paranormal activity or demon’s of the night!?
Although I am agnostic, I do believe in angels but there was nothing good about this creature, it was not invited, needed or welcomed. When I used to get tormented by, “Mr Three Piece”, things got bad and I ended up in hospital. MY mother had my flat exorcised and blessed and he never came back. I saw him in hospital and across the road from my mums but never again in my home. A blessing and exorcism has no shelf life. Therefor if a demon or evil spirit, it should not have been able to get into my flat and invade my personal space? I have shouted no evil spirits or evil of any kind are welcome here and so please leave but the test will be the next time I sleep in my bed. I will wait until I get very tired, then do yoga, have a shower, to feel refreshed, I shall try to stay awake and on the sofa tonight and wherever I rest, keep all the lights in!
If anyone has an idea of what is happening to me, please do let me know.

What the actual F###!?

When you wake up thinking that it is just another day and you habitually vape, check your phone for missed texts, calls, social media messages, statements and recorded visits on my various outlets, once satisfied, I usually take my medication and get out of bed and my day officially begins. One of the texts that I received was off a friend, she said that she had listened to one of my poems on SoundCloud and had really enjoyed it, that compliment ignited my artistic fuel and so I decided that the first task of the day would be to record another. Setting up took a while, choosing the right song, a device to play it from, a source to manipulate volume, my words and another device to record. Getting it right took even longer. Once satisfied, I uploaded and shared it.

When I had finished, I was extremely parched and so I went into the kitchen for the first time that day. I was thinking about food but still felt a little sick for over indulging on my diet snacks in disappointment the night before. I was supposed to be going on a date with someone that I had met online and had been conversing with for two whole weeks. He had cancelled the week before, due to a sustained work injury and being the gullible and helpless romantic that I am, I continued talking to him, at least he had cancelled, the guy that I was supposed to date before, had gone AWOL and so for me this scenario was an improvement. Yet unfortunately it got to date day and I had not heard from him to confirm, I started to get ready whilst making up excuses for him, perhaps he was at work with no access to his phone, as we had planned this date throughout the last week, perhaps he felt no need to check in and confirm. Our date was supposed to be at eight. I didn’t want to come across to intense and insecure but had no desire to get ready and go to meet someone who had seen and ignored my WhatsApp texts. In hope I had begun to get ready, but it got to seven and still not a word. I had officially been stood up, once again. I am rapidly becoming to familiar with this scenario! People complain about bad dates and I can’t even seem to get to the first date stage.
It had been a really bad week for me, being stood up of cause stirs the pangs of abandonment and rejection issues that I already have but not meeting this guy was the least of my worries. I had engaged in a therapy session that I had been anxious about attending, I am better at disclosing stuff to females but with the budget cuts, my only option was a male therapist, the session evoked and awakened the voices that I hear that had admittedly been dormant for at least a month. I had recently received news about having to leave my residence and find a new home, the decision felt heavy and premature to me. My depression had me stuck in a rut, unable to be active, shower, change my clothes and get out of my funk, energy levels low and no desire or motivation. On top of that, my psychosis had come back with a vengeance, my anxiety had me in regular panic attacks and my depression in floods of tears, this was prior to the new therapy about suicidal thoughts, actions and hearing voices that I was due to commence. I was cycling on my wonder core smart one night, whilst sobbing my heart out at the same time, what an image. After therapy with heightened psychosis, I couldn’t rest or sleep properly, disturbed by every sound, music, people, constant chatter and noise, unable to distinguish if the noise was universal or just a burden for me.
When I walked into the kitchen, it looked like the remains of a murder scene! Blood on the floor, surfaces and up the walls. I live alone and so of cause, it had to be my blood. I looked at my body for the first time that day, and discovered blood soaked bandages on my left arm and right leg. What the actual F###!? If I can do such detrimental harm to myself and just forget about it, I fear what may happen next time and in the future. I was clearly unwell, having some kind of episode and quite frankly unsafe to be alone. I was shocked, confused, scared, apprehensive and felt terribly isolated. I wanted to tell someone and ask for help but had strong reservations. Why should I drag people that I care about into this mess? Why reach out to people that I think care about me, only to get shunned and turned away. Why be delusional enough to think that anyone would care when I am just a number, another insignificant and weak being on this planet. Why invite my loved ones into this cobweb of a disaster. Why tell the professionals when I know that, that would result in some serious intervention. I did and do not want to go back to hospital, telling them would result in another psychiatric sentence. I decided to tell them once it had subsided as I believe the incident does need to be logged, yet if it happened again, I would have to swallow my pride and say something.
Throughout that day and the night, I kept seeing gigantic black spiders scuttle across the living room floor. Once again, it was hard to try to get to sleep that night with all of the distractions. I felt this animal jump onto the bed and get really close to my face, paralysed, I could not move or scream. I opened my eyes to see what felt like a fury creature, it was a large black cat with a bushy coat. I turned my head but could still not scream. I don’t have a pet, how did it get in? I hate cats. I was scared that it was more likely to be a rat or something. I had to dig really deep to get movement back into my body and turned the light on as soon as I was free. There was no creature to see but I swear that was not a dream, it was real what had happened to me. This time I decided to call for help, I was still bleeding away. The help said that it was a lucid dream, but I would not accept it and confessed how scared that I was. It was arranged to get a call once the office was open. This was only a few hours away. It was suggested that I get some sleep but I couldn’t and sat up writing. The call came just as I had fallen asleep, there was talk of solutions and action and it was decided that all the information would be relayed back to my mental health team Monday morning and to expect a call. It is now Tuesday and still no call, I even tried to phone them and I am waiting for a call back. I think the worst of it is over now but my illness is unpredictable, I would be a fool to believe that my symptoms are over for good. I hope that this new therapy will help me understand such happenings. What scares me the most, is not being able to remember causing great harm to myself and I fear the severity of injury if it happens again.
Living with severe mental health problems can only be described as an intricate, living nightmare. I believe that it has shaped my destiny, which is to use my experiences of pain and suffering to help others and raise awareness, I have been told that I must die to make an impact. Every time that I see or speak to my little sister, this saddens me.

Complete Silence…

I have experienced quiet but…
It’s never truly quiet,
There were moments before,
Like deep in slumber,
But not anymore!
The concept of silence,
I would associate it with sleep,
Something hand in hand with when the lights go out,
A time to let your brain sleep.
A time for peace, quiet and still,
That was before I got really ill!
I long for it now,
The ongoing noise is haunting.
I liked busy sounds,
They were a circumference of comforting energy.
Contending with traffic,
The hustle and bustle of people,
Was once all I knew,
Living in the over populated “London Town” zoo.
Music north,
Television south,
Chatting east,
The clink and clank of cooking to the west,
Such was the noise and audio reality of flat sharing.
Even when growing up and back home,
Just mum and I,
But still plenty of sound,
The dog barking in the garden to the north,
Mum singing out of key to the radio in the kitchen to the south,
Television on in the living room to the east,
Me chit chatting on the landline to the west.
All of this,
It is what I knew,
The noise of my life,
Content in the sound cloud,
Bubble wrapped within the comfort of what I knew,
The humbling sounds that I was used to.
The noises pacified me,
I knew that I was never alone.
These day’s,
It is not quite the same.
I dislike the sounds that I hear,
They seriously generate fear.
Every whisper,
Every scream,
And all of the noises in-between,
Haunting!
My ears are more sensitive now,
Susceptible,
And responsive,
To the less obvious sounds in life.
I hear the lights buzzing,
The clock ticking,
The radiators whistling,
The voices of those that you can neither hear or see.
I liked noise,
It didn’t restrict me,
I felt free,
But now it’s different because I cannot escape it you see.
Hallucinations,
Psychosis,
Heightened sensitivity,
Whatever label you want to stamp on me.
Once pacified by the comforting sounds of home and life,
My ears now ache,
And I cannot shake the discomfort which these noises make.
A voice in my left ear,
Another in my right,
Trying to ignore them,
As to correspond with you and seem alright.
All the while my strength implodes,
Because balancing it all,
It is a tough fight.
The idea of complete silence used to be a fright,
Now it is all I dream of,
Everyday and every night!

Struggles With Voices Are The Worst!

When you are down, low and insecure, there is nothing worse then the added pressure of hearing voices. For the reader’s that have never experienced psychosis, imagine wanting complete quiet but you have two people shouting into each ear at the same time, plus the radio on full volume, the TV on full volume and the piercing sound of all electricity, the lights, heating, just a volcano of noise that you cannot control or ignore. Plus everything being said is critical, condescending and demanding of you. That is the best way that I can describe my experience of hearing voices. It is agonising and can lead to catastrophic consequences’. I may be happy one second and then like a smack in the face, it can all come on and all at once. I can have the cleanest diet, be alcohol free, exercise daily, distract myself with music, poetry, TV, whatever. I could go on a heavy night out, drink all night, socialise and dance. I can be stuck in bed for days. I keep trying to diagnose my own triggers and think that is where I am going wrong. Such symptoms are simply part of my illness, what I do does not determine a relapse, it is just the nature of my illness. I take my medication, communicate with support but neither or are cures, they are just put in place to decrease such symptoms, not eradicate them. This is an acceptable theory upon reflection but not helpful at all when in the moment. I just want to switch off for a bit.

Buzzzzzzzzzzz!
Buzzzzzzzzzzz!
Swish!
Swash!
Swish!
Can you hear it?
Buzzzzzzzzzzz!
Buzzzzzzzzzzz!
Swish!
Swash!
Swish!
Can you hear it?
I can!
I am sick of it!
It’s not as it may seem,
The noise I mean.
It is like tuning into a radio station,
Before they went digital!
Nonsensical sound waves,
They then commit,
Translate,
And strongly exist…
Listen to me!
Listen to me!
Oi,
Jade,
Listen!
Seriously,
Can you not hear it?
I can!
It goes on and on,
And on and on,
Intense,
Overpowering,
Tightening,
Instructing and demanding.
I hear it!
I cannot turn it down.
Where’s the mute button?
The stop button.
They say they will,
If I succumb.
You are insignificant!
You are unworthy!
You are vermin!
You have the stench of death about you!
People would be better off without you!
You are no one special.
Pigeons are like Rats with wings,
You are like a rat with two legs.
A pest!
Get over yourself,
Everyone around you,
Strangers that meet you,
Loved ones too,
They don’t want you,
You know it’s true.
Darkness and gloom seeps in and out of your nostrils,
What you inhale is pure,
But release is deadly!
So I unwillingly spread darkness?
Make it stop?
No one wants you around,
It doesn’t have to be said!
Just read between the lines,
You are an unwanted inbred.
No one wants a burden,
You’d be better off dead!
You can try to keep up.
You can try and beat it,
Defeat it,
But is there any point?
Weighing people down,
Bringing people down,
Drowning and gagged,
Sinking deeper and deeper,
Let go and release them,
Everyone and thing you touch ends up in disaster,
Your darkness spreads like fire!
So let them all go,
Or they’ll all burn with you!

Therapy

A lovely someone sent me a link about the best way to support someone with BPD. It revolved around validating the individuals feelings, emotions, actions and reactions. It encouraged patience and empathy. As someone with BPD, my world is very isolated, as it is for most people with secondary level mental health problems, which is exactly why I selflessly write poetry and document my thoughts and experiences via my blogs, to engage, validate and show empathy towards the many people out there suffering and that feel alone.
I feel depressed, teary, stuck, lost, insignificant, frustrated, isolated, misunderstood, a burden, worthless and helpless every single day. I am self destructive, self harm is my biggest problem and suicidal thoughts linger around me constantly. I worry that if I communicate and reveal this to the professionals, they may admit me into hospital, which has kept happening once or twice a year since 2013. From my experience, mental health professional’s believe acute ward’s are not the answer for someone with BPD, which I believe to be an inaccurate theory as they cannot tarnish us all with the same brush. It just cannot be so black and white! If I am at risk to myself, of cause a safe place such as a hospital with twenty-four hour care is the best place to be. The only alternative is daily half hour visits which rapidly decrease and then you end up seeing a community psychiatric nurse every fortnight. There seems to be nothing in-between, no happy medium. If I tell my loved one’s, I worry them, upset them, confuse them and somewhat push them away as they are not equipped to take on the heavy load of problems that I undergo. I personally find helplines’ pointless. The NHS home treatment crisis line is always busy, inundated with many fellow sick people reaching for help. The longest call back time that I have experienced to date, was three whole hours. In that time the damage I feared had already been done.
They say that the best remedy for my personal mental health problems are medication (which I do take religiously)and agree that they help, and therapy. DBT (Dialectal Behavioural Therapy) was designed for people with BPD. Unfortunately it is very hard to come by. To my knowledge, in the city that I live in, you can only get DBT if you opt for private care. Unfortunately I am not lucky enough to be able to afford private care, and so I am stuck in this unhealthy merry-go round of ups, downs, highs and lows, my life hindered by anxiety, depression, psychosis, emotional instability, feeling trapped and misunderstood.
Despite feeling let down by many mental health professionals and the NHS care provided, I don’t want to live the rest of my life the way that I have been these past three years. Therapy has been suggested as a method of care. I had a therapist who performed psycho-dynamic therapy upon me for almost twelve months, first once a week and then twice a week. Unfortunately she suddenly passed away. I was then reluctantly catapulted into a group therapy where I was deeply misunderstood, it made me feel helpless and lead to some serious self destruction. I was then asked to not return, rejected and abandoned once again. This was over a year ago. I believed that I was on some kind of waiting list, I didn’t push or pursue the matter as my experiences were so sad, so bad, so detrimental towards alot of my relapse’s, I was in no hurry to try it all again.
Following my last relapse and hospital admission in May 2016, I came to discover that I had been taken off the waiting list. There has been alot of inconsistent information thrown my way since my discovery, confusion about where I may have my therapy, what therapy, do I even need therapy? The issue is still to be resolved, but if I hadn’t had my relapse, I would have still been silently waiting for contact that inevitably was never going to come!
I have always been very adamant about having individual therapy from a female therapists. I had an assessment two weeks ago, with not one but two male therapists in a rather small room. I felt judged and anxious. I have no recollection of what I said within the one hour and a half appointment but I felt uneasy and like I had failed. It felt like I had just talked my way out of a job. I felt that my intelligence, past success and vocabulary made them analyse me quite intensely and it did not go in my favour. I hope that they remember that ones achievements do not counter their mentality.
I am now anxiously waiting upon some kind of answer or report. I asked them to watch my, “BPD” vlog on my YouTube channel because what I said and how I felt whilst filming that at 4am at my parents house for sanctuary, most likely describes me better then I did in that tiny room with two male strangers. My fate is in their hands, I shall report all as soon as I am informed. Please see my BPD vlog below and watch it and share it, if you may?

The heart of Malaga

As I sit in this holy place,
I try to make sense of what is and can be,
Does faith draw in tranquility?
Or does tranquility draw in faith?
I don’t suppose either/or really matters,
What matters is that one is at one with one’s self,
Enabling us to feel joy and purpose in the presence of life.
Religion can make you feel alive,
Part of a community,
Loved,
Heard,
Significant
And understood,
But it can also cause terror,
Ostracise people,
Take away your voice,
Label you impure or a sinner,
Shun you,
Leaving you feeling judged,
Disconnected,
In doubt of all that you know and rules that you abide,
And extremely misunderstood!
My question is,
Is there a happy medium?
Sitting in this aesthetically beautiful church building,
With monumental history,
Draped like the crown jewels throughout,
It exuberates wealth,
With lavish gold architecture.
It oozes with glamor and fortune,
Quite the opposite from humble tranquility.
I know not the correct answer to my question.
I know not how I feel entirely,
Being agnostic and all,
But despite the grand facade of gold and riches,
Despite my reservations of religion when in comparison to science,
This place still seems somewhat sacred.
Whether it be the familiar and universal pattern of service from the priest?
The people from near and far,
Foreign and native in prayer?
I do most definitely feel welcome here,
And perhaps,
Admittedly,
A tingle of God’s presence.
Faith did not lead me there,
Nor a desire for tranquility,
It was more about curiosity,
But I believe I left with a little of both,
How long it will last,
I cannot guarantee,
But I definitely left with a slice of faith and tranquility.