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Passions by a self -defined Humanitarian

Write to Recover is an approved therapy called Bibliotherapy. It is used on people with Eating Disorders, PTSD, Depression and other illnesses. They are prescribed relevant material such as certain poems, novels and encouraged to write to find their inner being. Poetry as a form of healing dates back to Egyptian times in the 4th Millennium  BC. Shamans used to write words on bits of papyrus and get their patients to swallow the words on them for the most speedy effective result. 

In Roman times -A greek Born physician called Soranus of Ephesus was employed to come to live in Rome (in the 1st century AD) – to treat people with mania and melancholy with words. 

The word Mania originates from the Grecians. Melancholia is can be interpreted as meaning ‘black’, bile or gall. Whilst Mania is was broken down into two words Ania- is interpreted as severe mental anguish and the word  Manos is attributed as meaning a relaxed state  or an extreme  preoccupation of  the mind and soul. Soranus was the first person on historic record to suggest that mental illness of melancholia and Mania were separate independant entities – it makes sense to understand why in later years Bipolar was referred to as ‘Manic Depression. It is documented Soranus, treated people with Mania by prescribing Tragedies to read and conversely prescribed those displaying a  melancholic temperament with Comic works.

During the American civil war- American poet, Walt Whitman, used poetry recitations to treat the wounded before Morphine became the popular choice for pain relief. The humanitarian poet ( author of ‘Leaves of Grass’) also wrote a poem about his experience as a nurse on the battlefields of the American Civil War,

Thus in silence, in dream’s projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;

The hurt and the wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night — some are so young;
Some suffer so much — I recall the experience sweet and sad;
(Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested,
Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

Walt Whitman, “The Dresser” (1867, later titled “The Wound-Dresser”)

In modern times Poetry therapy is used to help people express themselves through self-reflection. So,the saying, ‘Words Matter’ – indeed do matter and have a powerful effect on our emotions and cognitive faculties.

Poets such as Alan Watts, Walt Whitman, William Wordsmith and Antonin Artaud works are prescribed to patients as an alternative form of therapy. 

An article was written by, Igor Goldkind, called ‘Towards an Uncommon Sense: the Practice of Poetry Therapy goes into greater detail of the breakdown of the three types of the most common approaches used to help people with Mental Health issues. 




Towards an Uncommon Sense: the Practice of Poetry Therapy, Igor Goldkind


I  identify as a humanitarian, I’m currently doing my TEFL (Teaching  English as a Foreign Language) training. I  think I have found my new calling. Perhaps my next career move will be to do training to become a poetry therapist. 

So, I will carry on with my ‘Write to Recover’ posts because I benefit from using this creative outlet to consolidate my Emotions and feel energised and purged from the unravelled thoughts I have in one day. My thoughts have a way of discombobulating my emotions and I become ruled by my emotions and thoughts that are not necessarily based on evidence and truth. I have made an ambitious start at using self-therapy DBT  (Dialectical Behaviour Therapy)to practice emotions distress tolerance, Wise mind and many other techniques to have more moments of Emotional Wellbeing than non.

I’ve downloaded many helpful apps to help me stay focused -The DBT therapy app, Happily, The recovery app because   I do live in my head a lot. Perhaps too much and too often. and in the past when I have been unwell with my Bipolar, Chronic Anorexia and Emotional Unstable Personality Disorder.

Please, can the word labellers of the world reclassify the title of this illness because I hate the Stigma and connotations conjured by the term EUPD?

A post for another day… 

I’ve also begun to throw myself into reading and educating myself across the entire spectrum of the Humanity & Arts subjects- Music, I have a Music blog, Photography, Art and reading up about different philosophers -all the subjects I have a great passion for and I never thought I was intelligent enough to grasp.

Reading back on these words,I find this tragic to put myself down to the point I feel that I am not like “normal” people who can enjoy these subjects and write about them (with a degree of credibility).

Momentarily I shall blow my own trumpet to state that I have a post-graduate certificate on the humanities I worked my booty off and received high merit. I received high merit towards my first year studying my MA degree in Advanced Creative Writing focusing on stage scripts! Writing about themes I want to shine a lot on – Homelessness, eradicating the stigma attached to mental illness.

Morality plays covering historical themes- the Russian revolution being a prime example.

I am compelled to volunteer my time in my community on the therapeutic benefits of creative self-expression and the connection with Mental wellbeing being. I have done this in the past. I’ve stood in front of Social workers, schools, NHS workers doing Anti -Stigma Workshops. Co-producing them. I don’t want chuffing letters after my name. I don’t want fame. I loathe it. I’ve been asked many times what it feels like to have so much insight into my mental health issues and “suffer” from them. Sometimes, I scream in frustration, I choose Ignorance! 

Perhaps this is the reason why  I’ve sought out “bliss” by self-medicating or trying to take my life because I have two live in my head. 

I will wrap this post up by affirming my saying 

Write to Recover or die to live the day of another

Daisy -the Dissident

The song I’m sharing today is by New Zealand’s very own Bjork-Kimbra. & a blogging associate turned me on to her.

This is  #goatbahs for today because it makes my heart soar & I feel a great adrenaline kick from it.


Mother Nature does discriminate.  Why?

Yesterday, I found out a badger is loose in our garden. I think it’s looking for a place to nest. I decided to google ‘how to get rid of a badger’. The number one solution is:

Human male urine.

Yes, or a hot Scottish bonnet or 8th on the list is Lion’s wee. Even if I was still living in South Africa that would be hard to get.

Mother Nature!

What do single woman/parents do if they are being “urbanised” by a pregnant badger?

Just a thought.


My passion has always been for causes that fight oppression in its many guises. Poverty, discrimination from Mental Health to Homelessness & inequality, clique groups, media censorship.

This is a  huge problem globally,  including places like  Nigeria. It’s devastating to know what is happening in Nigeria. Check the United Nations website out.


If we want to be seen as cultured or considered cultured, we should strive to educate ourselves. This is what I try to do for myself.

 We are so quick to judge people by what country they come from.

There are a lot of folks who I’ve realised do scam you ( if you let them). We all need an income, right?

It’s about ethics, inherent morals we are born with and choosing who you decide to associate with.

This is why I am honoured to  call myself

Daisy-the Dissident Goat.

My vision

  • Connect (with people)

  • Create ( with people or on your own)

  • Collaborate

  • Communicate

Check out What is with the whole GOAT thing?  for more information.


It’s a learning process. We learn & re-learn every day in our lives.

I’ve experienced (and still do experience) prejudice & stigma.

I was mentally and physically in a terrible place for 2 years.

And  (now) I’m “woke”.

I almost lost myself, my family and self-respect to   scum of society. I allowed myself to be taken for a ride by people who disgust me. Drug dealers

Losers with a driver’s licences/bullies & I’ve told them what I think. I’ve also told them I’m not afraid of them either.

Make of that what you will.

Love is a two-way street…

So is business.

I have realised by using my wellness recovery tools that self-medicating and making plans to end my life was because I felt so little worth about myself & I thought people ( even wannabe kingpin drug dealers have feelings) had the same integrity & values that I do.

Or, at the very least if a person compromises their values then tries to consolidate the problem.

I’m back in place where I see my worth again. I see where my energy, time & money is better used.

I’m not a girl for NA  or that kind of set up. I  have my family, friends & support around me.

I’m going to get back into volunteering again.

I’m grateful for Hope Street Calderdale recovery college for seeing the potential in me & giving me the chance to do my own 12-week WRAP  (2015)& then fund for a 5-day course to co-facilitate WRAP  (promo video link)  to give other people as many different tools to navigate and deal with life ups & downs (so to speak).

I still intend to use my skills when I’m well and unwell to helping other people.

I’ve bonded more with my daughter properly for the first time. I feel focused again. I feel happy when I’m not making myself ill.

I already have diagnosed ‘illnesses-Chronic Anorexia & Bipolar.’ I  have the responsibility to make sure I don’t fall back & do serious damage to myself (in the future) that I cannot undo.

I’m never going to be perfect & that is where I always go wrong. I aim for perfection when there is no such thing.

Even Mother Nature is flawed in all her complexity & beauty.



If you’ve read this far…

Thank you for indulging me.


my thoughts about “that item of clothing’

I’ve been thinking about this subject for two days. I t won’t shake off so I am going to have to do a post. Right, how do I give my feelings and thoughts on this topic any  justice? Well, since I can remember I have always had that one piece of clothing to measure myself against to see if I am still thin or need to lose more weight. It started as young as the age of 5 years old. I have always been conscious of my body and my inability to live happily inside it. The time that it tipped into the ‘warning! warning! flashing, red- lights danger zone, started with a ridiculous size of denim shorts that had the size 1 on the label.



I don’t know if this size was a U.K. / USA/ Mexican size or even a made up size. I had to fit into these shorts or else I thought my life would cease to mean anything. My life was only worthy of challenging myself and pushing myself to  weigh less and less than I did at whatever moment. Over the years I’ve kept those jeans. Over 15 years. The travelled with me from South Africa to France to the US.A and then the U.K. As time went by and  I became more accepting at living at a higher body weight; I found another item of clothing to size up my idea of  what I deemed an-acceptable body. It is a play suit. If I try it on and it feels  tight in the middle it freaks me out. How crazy is it when you consider that most women’s stomachs bloat throughout out the day and from week to week.

It doesn’t even matter what the scales say in these moments of despair and failure. The play suit has to be loose. I’ve been able to get rid of my teeny tiny shorts recently as this year ( A round of applause for me). However, I am not willing to give up the play suit. What I loathe most about this ridiculous and self esteem crunching obsession of mine, is I have a whole closet full  of clothes that I could wear but if I’m having a ‘tight around the middle play suit’ day,I refuse to wear anything else but the play suit! Yes, it is true that these outfits can be used as  a metaphor as to  how I measure my self  worth. I’m am working on being less obsessional, if only so I can I can wear different outfits and make more use out of the clothes I already have. It’s a good job fashion’ a la mode- does the full different era circuit, frequently. The moth balls get more of a show case than other people.



These words don’t do justice.

It is 4 a.m. and I want to write something so profound and worthy of the POST BUTTON. Of course, on some level  I know that I am worth more than an item of clothing. These days I do think more of myself in other contexts. I wish (oh here goes the whole regret bit) that it didn’t matter so much.  This obsession has at times stopped me moving on with my life and going out and has made me cry and made me want to harm myself.  It’s been the worst, poisonous partner I’ve had. It won’t stop haunting me.  It has stopped me from trying to date guys. Isn’t it so bizarre how I can hand over  so much power over an item of clothing?

My existence does mean more. I am a mother, a wife to be, a granddaughter, a daughter, a niece, a cousin, a friend, a cat owner, a  woman, a human being. The mind is a cunning bastard at times. It taps into to those feelings of fat and thin. Lingering doubt and insecurity. It’s skeletal frame dance chillingly around me – around and around. Dizzy thoughts of you are not good enough’ ‘you can’t go out in that’ ‘you have failed to be a human’ ‘people will think you are fat’ ‘how dare you think of wearing anything else but the freaking play suit’.

It toys with me. Plays with me. At least I have made the piece of clothing relevant to what it does to me.  It makes me introverted and unable to speak to others. I have that cartoon like storm cloud thundering over my head. Ruminating.  All the time. The silver lining in all this is that these days I challenge my belief system and I make riskier choices with my clothes, I get out the house even though I want to hide away. I will continue to wear my lustrous battle of armour. What I won’t  be doing is weighing  myself when I have it on.. 🙂