Let’s TALK ABOUT THAT FUCKING ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM!
Yeah, I’m obviously not going ignore that it is WORLD SUICIDE PREVENTION DAY -especially considering the work and training I have been doing this week, around Mental Health Recovery embracing the 5 key concepts to the
HOPE-People who experience mental health difficulties get well, stay well and go on to meet their life dreams and goals.
SELF-RESPONSIBILITY- It’s up to you, with the assistance of others, to take action and do what needs to be done to keep yourself well.
EDUCATION-Learning all you can about what you are experiencing so you can make good decisions about all aspects of your life.
SELF-ADVOCACY-Effectively reaching out to others so that you can get what it is that you need, want and deserve to support your wellness and recovery.
SUPPORT – While working toward your wellness is up to you, receiving support from others, and giving support to others will help you feel better and enhance the quality of your life.
WRAP is . . .
I’ve been so inspired, comforted, shocked and angered by the stories I have heard this week. Every one of us has been through shit- the same clinical diagnoses come up again and again, being drugged, feeling ashamed, stigmatized.
Being called crazy for acting in a way where obviously a person’s mental health is not good for whatever reasons.
Still, we live in this society. With this Victorian -lock them away, throw away the key mentality.
In my life, I have met people from all walks of life, ethnicities, religion, job roles/class.
I knew a physiatrist, (I have known many) who was not mine but a fellow inpatient, just like me. No one will know who I am on about. It was many years ago and nobody who knows me today and who I connect with today will know this person.
The thing with suicide – it can be intentional and unintentional – a quick act or an act that goes on for years until eventually, Grim reaper does come to collect.
Usually, there are years of pain and suffering and wearing the ‘I am ‘normal’ mask, not like – them – the “crazy” -unwell people, before someone does intentionally/unintentionally ends their life.
“I only drink 1/2/3 glasses of alcohol, a spliff, a night/at weekends to calm me down/get a buzz .”
I’ve heard that a lot.
Why does a person need this kind of outlet and coping mechanism to chill or escape from reality?
I include myself in this.
Life is stressful.
We are not helping our mates, colleagues, family, friends and community by pretending this is one of the healthy ways to cope.
“I only inject heroin or smoke crack, snort coke/Ket on weekends” It’s recreational use.”
I hear that too. These very words have come out of my mouth over the years.
SELFIE- WE ARE HAVING A BLAST – ONLY ON THE WEEKENDS!
“I can’t cope with life at all and need to take antidepressants/ mood stabilisers/ drink/smoke/inject/starve/comfort eat to cope and deal with the stresses of life”
I can hear the crowd heckling and tsking already.
That person has gone too far.
“All in moderation.” I hear some people say.
Have you actually looked at what the ( ahem..) governments guidelines for how much alcohol you are actually “advised” ( doesn’t mean you should) to drink or the number of painkillers you should take and when you should take them?
(if that is your “thing”)
Did you go out and buy a government, custom made, wine, beer glass or whatever to make sure you are getting the correct dose?
If you look at your drinking glasses compared to what the size of the glass that is advised (if you insist on drinking something that happens to be legal), I think you may have gone over the limit.
In this context, The moderation theory is a fucking myth, in my opinion.
Food is legal – people get addicted to it/not eating it.
So is Sex. So is stealing – that is illegal, of course.
Why are we self-medicating ourselves in this way?
Ask yourself. Don’t point a finger at Bob or Tina next door who are total mad heads, crazy, raging druggies or whatever, who are always having a bust-up.
Look at your own life. The own things you use to keep you well, that keep you able to make it to work the next day or not.
Keep you ticking over just nicely enough to cope with Lifes/ people’s unrealistic expectations of you.
Just a thought.
Do or don’t. I am not here to judge. I’m merely expressing my thoughts. I’m thinking/ musing– being human.
I know I come across as confrontational in this post and maybe I am.
Hell, yes I am.
I’m pissed off at how society decides who is fit and who is a misfit.
There are so many other ways to chill, be happy, live.
Why do we (I include myself in we) choose ways that are not actually healthy?
Why do we alter the wiring in our brain? Numb our feelings?
What is wrong with feeling and expressing so-called “weak” ” negative” feelings?
Take a look at your friend, a stranger in the street/ family member/ the person who calls you crazy.
It’s not hard to figure it out.
Did you know that a person with a label of schizophrenia is more likely to kill him/herself before harming another?
Yes, self-medicating – drinking, taking drugs to cope increases the chances of a person with a diagnosed mental illness becoming violent.
Think of Christmas, bank holidays, seasonal drinkers who congregate in civilised places to drink or even the illegal drug takers who congregate wherever to imbibe whatever substance.
I’ve been to these pubs/clubs/houses/parks/festivals/doss houses sober and seen what “normal” looks like.
How many of those people do you know?
Do you know their background, mind state?
Really, How well do you know them?
Have you seen what alcohol and drugs can do to a person who is a “normal” member of society?
“It was the alcohol, the prick who looked at me differently, the fucking coach of whatever sports team, that German/English/ French prick.”
What you put into your body will change how you act/perceive things and that is my point.
If I drink alcohol – when I have and done so, I tend to binge drink and I can “lose” it.
One last thing to think about, if you wish.
If I asked you to visually describe and give traits of a person who you think is likely to think about or actually take their own life, what does that person look like?
Here is a Fact: or about as accurate as a statistic can tell you.
The person most likely to attempt/take their own life, according to the statistic website I chose to use,
age 30- 64
method: firearm, strangulation, suffocation and poisoning
Previous Attempts to self-harm.
No items found.
I’m using him as an example with his permission, of course. 😀
Five years ago, he did fit into most of the criteria for being the person who is more likely to attempt/commit suicide.
He thought about ending his life when he was bullied, in his early teens, in the neighbourhood, he grew up in.
My husband has ended up in A&E due to an injury he acquired intoxicated. In his case, skateboarding accident.
Today, he is not suicidal nor does he own a firearm( it is illegal to in the U.K.) He has not drunk alcohol in 5 years, doesn’t smoke or use drugs – he has never even smoked a cigarette.
I’ve been on Facebook and Twitter this morning and came across this status update.
“How can a Utopian exist in a Dystopia ?”
( author of the source has rights to privacy without breaching any rights/ plagiarism)
“It can only exist for the minority and the ones at the top. One great way the elite create an illusion of Utopia is by conditioning.”
I get mentioned in a comment with this reply- from the author of the status update
“Maybe I have conjured up a perfect paradise in my mind. A place where there are love peace and happiness. A place where everyone works towards the betterment of everyone else. A place where people go out of there way to help and support each other. An environment where laws are just and true.
A place where truth, honour and justice aspired by all.
A world where equality, brotherhood/sisterhood and fraternity is second nature.
A place where war and the wholesale slaughter and genocide is abhorrent and inconceivable to all the inhabitants of Utopia. T
he Utopian being born in this ideological setting then wakes up one day to find himself or herself trapped inside this present reality of modern-day existenc”
I think: what an idealist- how can I respond? My Brain is doing overtime.
That place in your mind is a place in my mind of what I think would be the ‘perfect’ society. I don’t know why we need to suffer and why suffering continues to go on mercilessly.
I see so many FB posts of quotes about wanting to wake people up to what the governments of our world do, how we are slaves, To stand up and unite against all the injustice, the crime of pain. I have got bored with these posts for what is enlightenment without action?
I take small steps to not be so influenced by a world of decay and diseased minds and I am not talking about people with MH issues. We have been conditioned to be ignorant for so long that it has become an automatic default- we go to ignorance because it is exhausting to challenge our perceptions.
I still do it.
If this world we want existed how would we know we are happy? Do suffering and evil have to be a package deal to experience or wish for something better? I don’t know the answer”
What do I think when I re-read these comments? is, what do we as a society symbolise ‘Freedom’ with?
If you can picture the generous extension of France’s ‘Statue of Liberty’ gift to symbolise the centenary of the American war of independence and a symbol of the solidarity of French and the American friendship?
WHAT IS REALLY GOING ON BEHIND THIS SYMBOL OF FREEDOM?
The burning torch is the ultimate emblem of freedom. When I look at this statue and go back to all I have read about it’s the true meaning. I see darkness. I see lies. I see people thinking they are walking around with freedom, to be who they were born to be.
This symbol of fire goes back to Archaic times.
The myth of Prometheus – the Titan who made humans out of clay.
The Titan who went against the Gods and tricked them.
As punishment, the Gods took fire away from the humans and he stole it back and gave it back to the humans. . In occult terms, Prometheus would be associated with the name ‘Satan’ or ‘Lucifer’.
He betrayed the Gods and tempted to elevate humans to God-like status (in the context) of knowledge and free will. I use the term Satan and Lucifer in a metaphorical/philosophical way. He is the symbol of betrayal.
Helena Blavatsky explains in her classic occult work, The Secret Doctrine Volume 2 (page 244) that, “The allegory of Prometheus, who steals the divine fire as to allow men to proceed consciously on the path of spiritual evolution, thus transforming the most perfect of animals on Earth into a potential god, and making him free to take the kingdom of heaven by violence.
Hence also, the curse pronounced by Zeus against Prometheus, and by Jehovah against his ‘rebellious son,’ Satan.”
I’m don’t want this post to get too complicated. Here is a summary of my opinion of the duplicitous meanings of symbols of Freedom.
Freemasons/Illuminati – members, know the power of using symbols in business and in governments, to manipulate events so that these events go in favour for the select few. Guess who?
Read these quotes by Adam Weishaupt founder of the Illuminati ( he later said that he didn’t mean what he said)
“There must not a single purpose ever come in sight that is ambiguous, and that may betray our aims against religion and the state. One must speak sometimes one way and sometimes another, but so as never to contradict ourselves, and so that, with respect to our true way of thinking, we may be impenetrable.”
“This can be done in no other way but by secret associations, which will by degrees, and in silence, possess themselves of the government of the States, and make use of those means for this purpose.”
“The Order will, for its own sake, and therefore certainly, place every man in that situation in which he can be most effective. The pupils are convinced that the Order will rule the world. Every member, therefore, becomes a ruler.”
Us “commoners” are told that knowledge is power – yet they hide a large portion of that knowledge from us.
We are told:
Freedom is being able to vote democratically.
Freedom is wealth.
Wealth = happiness.
They don’t reveal how they use these symbols to condition us to think we are happy and successful. We are mere slaves and help a very small elite portion of the world’s population live, in an almost utopian life, of their making, creating a dystopia for the rest of us.
Most of us don’t know we are anything but free.
Think back to the decade before the roaring ’20s.
Victorian times – solemn, sombre, emotions in check moderation, void of emotion.
Then, BOOM! The age of decadence arrives.
Diamonds become ‘A girl’s best friend’-worn by all the stars in Hollywood –
The film industry tells them to wear diamonds. Advertise them.
The message: If you love me -you will buy me a diamond because diamonds = wealth and success which makes me feel happy and loved.
When I am happy and loved I am truly free. There is nothing wrong with this statement
This was a well thought out and executed propaganda. The problem with the above statement is we still believe freedom comes from external things. Cast your mind to the slaves mining for diamonds under the watchful eye of the corrupt Congolese Dictatorship. Not so Utopian and free for all after all?
Another symbol comes to mind when I think of Freedom. The dove. Here is a bit of information for you – ever heard of the term Augury?
The definition of augury is the practice of clairvoyance by a prophet or oracle or is a sign or harbinger of things to happen in the future.
An example of augury is a priest explaining a divine act.
An example of an augury might be the flight patterns of birds.
Remember knowledge is power. What greater power is there than predicting the future? There is no mystical bullshit – governments and people who have their own interests at heart, use the symbol of a Dove to signal that the future holds peace and love.
It is an Aldous Huxley -brave new world, brainwashing, narcotic to numb us.
All is well with the world.
I could go on and on so I will summarise what I have learnt about these symbols of freedom.
In my opinion,
True freedom can only be found within oneself. So far the best answer to coming up with a solution to this problem is denouncing all modern society and live in Nature and become self-sufficient and independent. I don’t see many people willing to give up their mobile phones, flashy cars, collection of fine wines, burn up a bunch of millions of dollars to live a life of true freedom.
A snake has the power to kill yet it can be’ hypnotised’ by a snake charmer…
Does a snake have ears? can it even hear music?
A snake has eyes and responds to what it sees.
What do you see and feel when you see the word FREEDOM?
Illogic has pushed the boundaries with the track ‘First trimester’ ( Illogic – Celestial Clockwork (2004)).
Each verse focuses on the different perspective of a couple and their unborn child going through the decision of whether to keep their child or have an Abortion.
It’s a lateral thought-provoking song to the Life versus Pro-choice debate.
It is Illogics maturest track to date.
It highlights the need to create more awareness (about not only women) but Men’s thoughts and emotions; about Life & Abortion & challenging our beliefs. It definitely engages critically with this still taboo subject.
We seether gamut of emotions the couple go through trying to keep their relationship together & looking at what is best for their futures. The inner conflict is raw. The last verse from a child’s perspective blew me out of the water.
Here she comes
Me-the late bloomer
I have a revelation words matter circa 2019.
ALL WORDS MATTER.
Let me try and type something with substance
Words have power.
Collectively should choose our words carefully.
Don’t stop talking.
Hashtag it’s still okay to talk.
Start a difficult conversation.
Mental health is here for as long as we humans are.
Stop with the sincerely Stan — suicidal fan stereotyping-
Passive-aggressive greeting-Hello me hunties
Yes, I have a cunt and I won’t let any manhunt me-unless he is prepared to be chased too.
How can we all be so woke when
We still choose to believe in fake news?
People love to give blow jobs on other peoples words.
Most people swallow and don’t spit.
Retweet it to keep it 100.
Can we put a value on integrity?
Words matter-when we stand up for our belief to break away from the mould.
Open mic night’s expressions should be honoured by doing our words-over and over.
Especially when people aren’t watching.
Show and tell how to walk the talk.
Match a wage bet — that another brother’s claims of little Miss trouble are too high key.
It’s okay to talk.
Tupac, once said
People should see before they make a judgement.
express yourself — in the socially accepted way-
Aspire to appear lowkey?
All these quotes about
Keep your personal business to yourself.-
Then do a 180 and take the ” power back”.
A calculated performance.
Reveal you know how to manipulate words — with barely legal finesse.
Hashtag wars still matter.
Use language for positive change.
Start a difficult conversation.
Think about your fellow patient in the opposite bed.
Why does she have resting bitch face syndrome?
Why does she stare at the back after you state
‘That feeling when you feel like Britney spears circa 2007?
Oh, you have problems — you slit your wrists — oh how savage — roll of the eyes.
Let’s get creative with our words.
Affected by mental illness.
Lives with a mental illness?
Or suffers from a mental illness?
How savage (roll of eyes)
These labels — — schizophrenics. Bipolar, psychotic.
2019 is the year where Everyone wants to be insane
the reason to be a certain way is the new aesthetic
or an excuse,
To be lowkey about our true shame and high key about superficial hurt not to lure in the Stans.
It’s not relevant (as long as I get approval from my fam or
My Sis from another Miss).
We are more than a tick boxed list of criteria.
We are complex humans, with diverse traits and interests.
Who is that? Over there- making a statement.
Not relevant — That there is just some extra.
Not part of the true fam-
Is this how we wish people to feel?
For all the RT’er’s out there who love to share,
Share your own personal story.
The world will become a place where you are lit by your integrity.
Not everyone can relate to the G.O.A.T.’s
We probably are pretty for real when we embrace our bromances and our militant feminists.
True power is being woke enough to see the ethic in bringing out the G. O. A. T. in EVERYONE of us.
We can all be lowkey.
We are all fam.
I’m not going to say its cool to call my new ‘ship interest-Dad.
And the lack of them.
What we don’t say … is a statement of power.
Spoken word — maybe we all have inner dictator waiting to stand up and be heard.
I don’t know how we can claim to so woke when everything we do is to death.
What am I going on about?
Apologies for this is the mix in slang-
I’m not pedantic … I am keeping my integrity — my code of ethics.
If we are going to talk and be true about our feelings — Remember that the words we use to connect on a level can out you as a hypocrite-
Words matter because they help us communicate and relate with a diverse bunch of people who may end up feeling like family more than your own Dad or sis.
Communication can cause dis-ease — challenge our own self-awareness;
Not because you the go-to p[person to get the latest scoop on someone else in life detention.
It’s cool to be high key about not fitting the mould-
Embrace the idea that to be holistic is not going to conform to your method of living-
WE don’t have to be conventionally spiritual to have faith.
Well-being of the mind and body is the G.O.A.T.
– the power-
The perfect ratio.
Sometimes we fall — human after all …
When we outcast others for assuming their make up
Judging every part of them based on an undemocratic vote of what a person’s true disposition is.
How fair and unbiased are our Hugh key views when we don’t have the whole picture?
That moonscape — that attitude is a predisposition to sus and ghost others because of their diversity.
We spit words, stand up for diversity and equality-
Express ourselves through didactic verse.
Congratulate our selves on our ethics-to embrace the variety of our culture.
The irony is what we say and do,
What we say we are going to do.
And what we do when confronted with someone who is different and not facile two understand.
How quick we are to turn into heartless bastards and turn away from our own race.
Everyone is quick to look at the other person.
I Don’t see colour! I’m not racist.
I don’t discriminate, I’m well up for equality.
“Look at those tits!”
“She looks well up for it.”
“Crazy, cheating man-hating bitch.”
“Disrespecting my bro..”
Consult the bro code.
This divine, esoteric oracle states that she was asking for it.
Aaah Aaah Aaah BAH!
True story — a woman lived under apartheid then came to live in the patriarchal society of English gentry. She’s spoken up for herself — acted like a dude-how dare she!
Embraced the spoken word and unashamedly campaigned for the right that it is truly ok to talk.
Segregated cos she is diverse and predisposition to speak her mind, she made as many fuck ups as the people she met and spent time with.
She decided to end her borderline poetics with
I don’t give a fuck, I know the world is bigger than a few small-minded , feeble gossips who use their words to bond
I “died” to be reborn.
I answer to nature, not people.
This was the first piece of fictional writing I ever wrote. It was also graded and then I had to adapt it into a different genre.
‘Miss Sainte!’ the travel consultant’s hands twitch like a bees feelers, ‘let me get your tickets for London.’ and she is off. I’ve always found it amusing how people assume that your life is more exciting than theirs. My life had taken on the acrid taste of bourbon. Hard decisions require liquor. There I was bobbing up and down like a buoy in a sea of bitter. Disconnected from all sources of life. Waves of nausea threatened to bury me, deep, in an unrefined grave. This was my existence until I sobered up.
The hairs on my arms prick up like ears on stalks, straining to confirm what they’ve heard. Shivers rush down my spine. Impulsively my hand goes to feel the smooth outline of the documents in my handbag, confirming that the surgery will go ahead. I look up from the tropical brochure and nearly fall headfirst into a pair of dung coloured eyes. She’s that close. I quickly murmur my thanks and bolt out the door, the wind slamming the door for me
My life tends to go from one oblivious moment to the next. One ginger bastard is all it takes for the state of my jagged ignorance to be shattered. Now all I can see is my former ignorance smirking everywhere. All of a sudden its: Ginger beer, Gingerbread, Ginger cats, Ginger biscuits, Gingernuts, Ginger pubes, Ginger! Ginger! Everywhere! I’ve reasoned that it’s not too avaricious to want more than ‘current-girlfriend’ status. Why would a heathen (his -word) such as myself, all tits hanging loose, wild hair and barefoot, want certainty and commitment? Why indeed?! Every time it’s the same watery twaddle:
‘I’m a married man… A Catholic!’ –with a bellyful of 24-hour bargain booze. It’s all driftwood. I’m Odyssey’s ‘Scylla ‘or ‘Charybdis’. If he wants to treat me as a necessary evil then instinctively I will lure him to my grotto and devour him. Men have this habit of changing anything they see as mystifying into the female form.
Yesterday his spinal support kicked in and he decides to call me. It went something like this:
‘Babe, things are … complicated. I’m here for you.’ he said.
Then, that familiar feeling, the tightening jerk on my vocal chords, taut like a gymnast’s rope. Panic. The struggle to gulp in air. My throat is blitzed with grainy, arid sand. The beat. The beat in my heart starts clanging cacophonously and belches up into my throat. My instincts are shrill. Screeching: Caution! Do Not Proceed. This is what his voice does to me.
‘Babe, we’ve been through so much?’ Smelly feet. All I can smell is pongy feet; His feet! I’d rather go collecting cacti with my teeth than screw you. Yerr screw: That’s what I should have said.
‘I’m on my way.’ C’mon you don’t wanna be loved? So instead he gets his way and I’m running like an Olympic sprinter to get to my car.
There I am sitting in the car about to gear it up. Panic. With my palms, I start slamming the steering wheel. You stupid bitch. SLAM! Greedy stupid bitch. SLAM! Blasted tears form. I look into the rear-view mirror and with a fingernail, I press down hard, scraping my cheek- only satisfied when I see the offensive, black line of soggy mascara tarnishing it .Ugly Bitch! I pound the rearview mirror-over and over.
I can feel the gamut of my emotions and thoughts losing form. So fragile. One knock. One tiny crack is all it takes. When he opens the door all the innards of my mind start to scramble.
‘Neck this’, he says. He plays his part well. He picks me up like I’m a delicate fawn and gently lowers me onto his sofa. He waves a bag of coke in front of my face. My fucking dopamine receptors are giving you a standing ovation, mate! Trust an ex-army cadet to bring out the Bolivian marching powder. Several hours later, we’re both wading deep in overconsumption. Billie Holliday is playing, her voice becomes the beat in my heart.
‘Love. Love her voice… so raw….so pure…but damaged like… Know what I mean?’
He just sits there, shakes his head mindlessly, not even one cobweb is disturbed. Great bulging eyes leer out at me. I might as well have a pair of fucking rabbit ears and a hat on with electrodes attached to my head. One eye hanging precariously out of its socket. It is torture what he does to me. I want to scream: Why do you look at my pain? Consider it. Consider me! And then decide this bitch needs sterilizing?
He’s suddenly up and real close. His odour arrests my breath, it’s like taking in a whiff of a Parisian fish market at the end of a hot rough day. The hairs stand up on my body betraying my true feelings. Then he demands me to laugh.
‘Laugh. ‘He roars. Followed by frenzied laughter – Shit what’s he gonna do? He’s just laughing. Standing over me and laughing at me. Kick him in the gonads, quick! He stops. Breathe. He moves up close again, our faces touching.
‘Boo! He whispers, slapping his hands together with glee, he grabs my arse –roughly. I’m smiling. My mind severs itself form my body. It too plays its part well. He then begins to undo his jeans.
A bloated smiling face. The receptionist takes my documents. The ballooned smiling face points us in the direction of the waiting area.
‘Whoa! They must have known we were arriving, all the chairs are set up, ready for a blessed sermon. Wanna do the honours?’ What am I saying? I watch his fat turnip- shaped face go red. Blood red. He is simmering away like a stew but someone forgot to put the meat in. Jesus why the hell did I agree to this? The walls expand and shrink like I’m sucking on a plastic bag. Panic. I’m in Plato’s allegorical cave. His shadow torments me, I’m convinced that Mother Nature has given him rights over oxygen.
‘Hope Sainte?’ a nurse’s voice booms. Jumped up like a leapfrog. Crap joke but I got spooked. The nurse looks up at me, she raises her eyebrows which make her glasses slant downwards. He heaves his body upwards. I feel his skulking bristling my nerves. The Nurse ushers me into a cubicle.
‘Change into this then hop on a bed’ she gestures to a bed. I touch the blue gown and put my fingers to my nose. Tainted, I gag. How can I put it? It’s like, I’m inhaling water. Panic has dropped her anchor.
Lying horizontally I turn my head to the left and I look up into a pair of nostrils. It’s the Surgeon. His lips are moving like that singing bass fish that was all the rage in the nineties. I can’t hear jack shit- the porter wheels me into the theatre.
I open my eyes. I exhale, the cubicle expands. He enters, drops his head. Doesn’t even bother to look at me. He stands in a corner and folds his arms He just stands in that corner reminding me of a scarecrow. All stiff and glacial. Hours slither by, the silence hissing mercilessly. A hug. I want a hug. The silence is pierced. It’s me. I’m screaming. Little critters are scratching away at my insides. The attack is stabbing and sharp. The pain throbs with intent. Panic.
‘What the hell is happening?’ I look over and he’s fiddling with his fucking phone like he’s re-arranging his balls. Strap on cock-face! He turns around to face me. Did I say that out loud? He looks demonical enough.
‘Erm… well derr!’ He slaps my forehead, ‘you’re giving birth to our baby! Look at the state of ya!’ I follow his eyes. They settle on my well-formed bump.
‘You stupid murdering bitch!’ He then spits in my face and turns to leave.
‘Hey, where you going- we agreed on this?’ Panic. There’s more screaming.
‘Why? Why? Why?’ Each “why” growing in expectation and volume. Sobbing, through my tears, I can just about make out a figure of the porter. Everything starts to slow down. No. Retardation is setting in, slowing me down. Panic. The surgeon appears again. It’s like I’m in a macabre pantomime
‘Now, please, count backward from ten, please.’ he smiles down at me.
‘I can hear you!’ I dribble out. The surgeon smiles and nods his head like one of those Chinese paw-waving cats.
‘Hey! Listen can you hear that?’ they’re playing music! What kind of sick set up is this? Beethoven’s, ‘Moonlight sonata’ is playing in the background. I touch it. The bump. I’m pretty sure this has got to breach my human rights.
A voice punctuates the air. It’s mine.
‘Number one. Gotta look after number one!’ That’s what my Mum always used to say… “If ya can’t put yourself first, you’ll never be able to put ya, child, first. From now on I swear it. I’ll make each moment in my life count! Maybe one day I will be worth being called a mum….sorry.’
My eyes close, a tear rolls down my cheek as I’m wheeled into theatre.
What are your views on Abortion?
Do you know how hard it is to successfully take your own life?
I have been doing it all wrong.
Like most people, I have down it on impulse. Not thinking through the logistics.
If someone is going to take or think about taking their lives here is something to think about:
Drug interactions- do you want death to painful?
This is what I’ve realised I need to take in to account if I want to end my own life.
It needs to be planned
only 1 in 40 planned suicides is successful by overdosing.
Most people when they find the pain of living unbearable, usually try & take their lives on impulse.
And fail. Ive been in that club.
So say I decided to end my own life, how would I want it to go?
- I want a painless death -Nembutal is the safest way to a pain-free death. There ar3 many methods
- Pick your drug interactions wisely
- Consider your Mid lethal dose & tolerance levels to certain medications & drugs, your gender etc..
- Check the expiry dates.
- Consider drinking alcohol with it – not on an empty stomach -as there is always the chance overdosing on large quantities of tablets can induce vomiting.
- Crush all tablets together and aim to drink/consume it all in one small dose
- Be in a place where no one can find you.
So it is final.
What I would want from death is no more pain.
There is a website I found in my quest to find purpose and meaning in my life & also to find a way to end it
I’ve delved into courses about the Humanistic approach to life.
The arguments for being pro-euthanasia & how a society can decide that a person’s mental psyche and anguish is not on a par with a terminal illness like cancer or progressive like dementia
We can’t see the inner workings of the mind or the pain a person goes through.
I’m trying to be rational & think of the positives.
I have a daughter and I don’t want her to be like me.
I have always struggled to live in my head, my body.
I’ve forgotten 3 quarters the events I’ve experienced.
I’m angry at the abuse I’ve allowed men to do to me.
I’m angry at the loss of power I gave to others and to things.
My standards have fallen & I am clinging on to an idea of self-respect cos I am worth it yet I don’t present myself that way & how can anyone respect me when I haven’t the ability to come across as eloquent.
I have had talking therapies, hospitalizations, epiphanies & moments where I’ve thrown myself into studies, work etc until I become unwell again.
Why do we have a problem with people who are mentally “incurable”, have no hope, have tried numerous ways to live and the pain is chronic or terminal?
Why can’t we accept that most people who genuinely have thought and planned things through – the pros & cons, belong in a hospital?
It’s easy to want humans to live but not want to take on their problems. It’s far easier to lock people with long-standing illnesses in a hospital.
The problem is that some people will respond to certain treatments & others don’t.
That is the way it is. Only we get to decide if we want to end up dead. Addictions, slow suicide etc.
Some days I feel like I merely exist.
If a person is hell-bent on ending their lives they will find away.
Society needs to get their head around the idea of mental torture and the quality of life for a person who can’t find peace or meaning in it due to pain.
Just a thought.
*Stream of consciousness writing helped conjure this character that I developed for the short story*
Take me to a place where being penniless is the land of the free.
Pennies should only be sought after a valued thought.
Lift my skirt higher?
Do you really think I can get that low?
I’m too shy to go all Billy bass
to consider blowing some dude in his family car-
in the hope of getting a lyrical limbo.
credit cards maxed
I hope you get it now.
that’s what I think I would say to the first punter.
I’D MUG HIM..
Do time for £50?
Take your filthy hands off
Do you get it now?
This life is awry.
They get to fuck with
Confession -Don’t tell a soul.
If I ever became a sex worker
Call me naive but
I’d make a kiss the most expensive act on my price list.
You know, tongues.
Romance is dead.
WE ALL WANT to BE LOVED
Obviously we all we want to be wanted.
Kissing is the height of mind-altering spooning.
Lack of kisses & cuddles can make a nirvana or dystopia of unfixed abodes
Hearts in denial of their poverty.
I will see some other side.
No throwing sand on a cardboard box, just yet.
Still have a few tears to battle out.
I do have a decent amount of self respect.
Where do all the good people go?
Do they become bad?
Be strong little one!
We grow from jungle roots and a paradise nigh off the setting sun
we clap in silence for nature our divine protector —
My prayers are with her holy Gaia.
“The worst thing about that kind of prejudice… is that while you feel hurt and angry and all the rest of it, it feeds you self-doubt. You start thinking, perhaps I am not good enough” -NINA SIMONE –
I never knew why I connected so much with this woman’s voice and songs so much, until now.
We seemingly have nothing in common- she was a trained classical pianist, jazz and soul singer, and a proud African American lady, actively a part of the American civil rights movement.
She hung out Martin Luther King! She was born in the 1930’s.
I , on the other hand, was born and grew up in South Africa. I am white. I was born in the early 1980s when the apartheid regime was crumbling.
Recently, I watched the documentary about her life on Netflix and I identified with this wild spirit within her. A spirit demanding justice. She was a person who had a name but couldn’t truly own it.
There is a song she sings – AINT GOT NO -I GOT LIFE (she is simply mesmerizing to watch)
The song ends with her singing
“I am my freedom. I got my freedom.”
That is my connection to her. For a long time I wasn’t accepted,I may well have been another skin color.
In fact- in post-apartheid. -early 90’s -I spent most of my teens taking drugs with the colored or black and Indian community ( they identify themselves with these terms in South Africa btw ) and increasing less time with white people.
At various points in Nina’s life she felt like she had lost her mind.
I nearly became mad.
In fact I am sure I did.
I nearly died -countless times too.
I was forced out of South Africa because my mother couldn’t stand by and watch me die.
It took 17 years to get to the person I am today.
I should be dead. I guess life has bigger plans for me. It is not for lack of me trying every possible way to kill myself by my hand or another’s..
I have always wanted my freedom to be me in my body and mind and be comfortable in it.
In my search for Freedom I even became like some feral creature to get it. I could say I only imitated what I saw other people do.
Its’s strange how other people are quick to judge. They don’t seem to see that they do the same things to cope.
Oh,how they just took .
People just took from me what was useful to them and discarded me like a used condom. Making sure there was no evidence to be found that linked them with the theft of my own creativity and soul.
People took a lot from Nina – she left the U.S.A. for many years to find her mind and peace.
One of my favorite sayings I always tend to tell people is
“I’m a person with good intentions”
“My actions and heart come from a good place .”
I think I must have picked it up from the lyrics in the song ‘DON’T LET ME BE MISUNDERSTOOD
“I’m just a soul whose intentions are good – Oh lord please don’t let me be misunderstood”
I’ve often felt misunderstood.
I have made one hell of a journey.
So these days if someone misunderstands what I say, I have to pretty much cut them off and be direct and tell them that they have misunderstood or not heard or misinterpreted what I am saying .
To have soul, you have to be free.
Completely free of your mind and body -you mustn’t covert away any part of you , you must reveal your soul to the entire world.
People will either get you or they won’t but that becomes their problem not mine or yours.
There must be no shame in revealing your soul to the world.
Nina was diagnosed with Bipolar in the 80’s and I guess she felt displaced.
Now I know that world well.
I felt displaced in so many situations in my life. I did actually do something Nina did (at a point in her life)-
I turned inwards on myself.
I couldn’t win the political game of “normal” social life. I never fit in one social group or culture.
I stood out for all to see.
I didn’t fit. Yet, I felt comfortable in more than one place or with one type of people simultaneously.
I didn’t want to have to choose just one set of people to be around. I tried to conform but my soul rebelled
I struggled when I was growing up.
Not being able to fit into one box came high levels of recklessness on my part. I was probably the first person in my social group who displayed crazy- off her head signs.
It was awful because I was only 13-17 years old.
You could be a certain type of crazy but not my kind of crazy.
People backed up the fuck away…
Never mind that later many of my peers would have had more life experience and with that , they had gained a few extra pounds of experiencing the not so great hand life deals us at times.
There would come a time when many I knew would have to deal with whatever it decides to throw at you. Whenever it chooses to do so.
Maybe a few of them went
“Oh,now I get it.”
I took on adult responsibilities from a young age.
I didn’t fucking want them.
So it then became a political inquest into my soul…
My soul fled from me – leaped out of my heart, got lost in my head , ran- in search of the nearest exit.
It found that exit in a secret tunnel at the furthest part of my unconscious. It did a backflip out and over the balcony of my mind, landed on its feet and made for the ocean.
It went into hiding , to the deepest part of the ocean. A place it knew it could surrender to without protest. It could go with the current and not be examined for doing something as natural as just being its nature and of nature.
I searched to reclaim mine back for years.
Soul can’t be questioned it must be felt.
Nina felt stigma,
I felt stigma,
Many feel stigma.
She connected to so many because she wasn’t afraid to share her humanness and be her and speak up for ‘her kind’.
She inspires me to carry on speaking out for people who still suffer inequality with their mental health issues. I will never stop using my voice and writing to break down stigma and prejudice and ignorance.
There are four songs I want to share that she sang.
The only way she knew how to help change and shape the world she lived in -was to get political with her music. It killed her singing career and nearly killed her.
I can’t help but see Nina as such a positive role model for all genders, race, sexuality, age and faiths.
STRANGE FRUIT- The first greatest protest song. Originally sung by Billie Holliday -another idol of mine
GODDAMN MISSISSIPI –read about the meaning behind the song
TO BE YOUNG, GIFTED AND BLACK – be proud!
This leads me to tell all your Jazz lovers out there that today is Sunday ( again?)and I kind of accepted to do a challenge.
INTERNATIONAL JAZZ DAY EVENT is on 7th May.
WANT TO JOIN IN ON FACEBOOK? HERE YOU GO.
If you can, I recommend watching the ‘WHAT HAPPENED, NINA? ‘ ‘ DOCUMENTARY ON NETFLIX