Blog Archives

Toxic positivity culture

Most of us are aware that suicide attempts are on the rise at an explosive rate.

We all don’t want to see or hear someone who thinks the only way out of life is taking their own life.

We are told to talk about our feelings. Get it all out & call for a chat if we need anything.

People have to get on with their lives.

What if the help they are advised to seek out isn’t there or doesn’t help?

What about our ethical stance or views about people who want to end their lives?

Can we become open to challenging our views and reasons for helping people without being able to have a lasting impact on those people who still have to live with the aftermath of wanting to die?

Of course ,we are humans with complex emotions & at times deep compassion & empathy. We want to help or fix other people.

How do you feel about

Someone with a degenerative disease such as MS who has lost her soulmate & wants to end Life?

Or a man with a family to protect who is struggling financially & can’t see a way out either through shame or pride to seek out help or because they refuse to live in poverty so takes his life so his family can live on his Life insurance?

What can you do to make a positive long lasting change in their mind set or circumstances?

Does it soothe our conscience

We can admonish we have done the right thing

Acts of Altruism?

What about a teenager with body issues, relationship problems, a person.

Who sees no way out?

What if the places we signpost him to get help can’t or doesn’t help?

Well.. at least we tried to be a good person..

Instinctively we feel that it would be wrong to not want to help.

We live in a society where we are bound by outdated traditions, people who believe rhat by giving a person a poster can guide a person to change their perspective .

I believe the quality of life should matter more than the quantity.

I also believe that a teenager or a man in serious debt may be able to find guidance and be able to deal with the desire to die.

When it comes to illnesses I watched my own grandmother become an entity merely existing because that is what. society says we should do. Keep her alive.

Keep people alive even if that life is in a care home, unable to speak, move.

We don’t have enough resources to help people in state care homes to signpost these people to places where they can have a chance to rethink how they can live with a sense of purpose.

I’ve seen people I love live on a “leash” tied to life for what? other peoples peace of mind?

If we can’t get the resources to help people see a way out must they suffer their entire mortal life in mental anguish & physical torture?

What gives life meaning?

Purpose?

Finding a way to grow, achieve happiness – evolve as we have been designed to as humans?

We were born to live in our physical bodies and create a life worth living. To be able to say at the end of our lives that we died knowing for what purpose we had lived.

A semi colon saves the day


On the 11 of May 2020 I attempted my final suicide -or so I thought.
I had read the suicide manual

I chose death by overdose this time. I crushed the tablets into a gooey mixture -(added small drops of liquid)-with a morsel and pestle.

Measured a small dose of alcohal to 3/4’s apple juice then chugged the paste down without any hesitation.


Fear entered my brain a cloud saturated in grey -I let it sail past
Its size was irrelevant

I had to achieve death. One thing I was good at. Finding a way to cease to be

My other attempts were slow suicides. Sectioned multiple times -an inpatient stay -12 months at a time starving my body hadn’t worked
A suicidal coward -I couldn’t live with an ego wounded with a false hubris made shirt.

I waited until I was alone – my calculations of jumping off suicide bridge again seemed ill prepared for what I had in store.

Quetiapine -antipsychotic medication was a miscalculation too
The symptoms agitated my unconscious state


Stairs lead me to the front door
This is an account from my husband-yellow flowers in his hand
he found me regurgitating on my vomit on the kitchen floor.

In 2018 I ended up in ICU 9 hours -my mother prayed -I raged from her selfish wants.
She had no understanding of living day to day in a body half sawed from an asylum hijacked from myriad peacocks relentless
until I escaped -there sounds crawled up my spine
Lit upmy human barbaric side -quelled the blaze could not be subdued.

2020 -Inhaling my vomit
husband pushed open the back door with yellow roses to cheer me up
He knew I was running off the cliff – he thought let me cheer my missus up.

Many hours, days I was tortured by Aliens
Abducted. I pleaded for the fire to cease
for water to replenishes my thirst.
World War 2 Masks leering over me
cold showers
Christians say I was in purgatory.

Mother on her knees
The daughter wrote to me in my sleeping castle.
I fought against the tube pipe minutes from a trachae-I begged for freedom -a place filled with light.
Hell what would I know?
Aliens abducted me -I know that cold water
Sticks prodded

Probing up my nose

Mind tricks disregarded my pleas to change
let me leave
I knew no prayer or god would release me
A face painted up as my mother caught my eye –

my daughter couldn’t hold my attention.

Guilt fit to burst out tears .

Gassed for my lack of integrity

I found out how many days my dear mother prayed for me to come out of my coma.

The family started reconciling I was on a life support machine-close to brain damage, paralysed- death would be the prayer for my destiny.

Once again -her rosary beads anointed her
Happy birthday mum, where am I ?-

the aliens bid me farefill after a 5 day probing
An experiment not worthy of their intelligence
It was all for nothing


10 days later I was high on life.

A hug doesn’t help, nor did talking, self-medicating, reaching out to my tribe.
Suicide is not the answer unless you are sure you know why you want to say goodbye.
Do your research & even then you might not die.
Months go by
I’m still here -my body & thoughts to collude with troubles from 3months
Gone by– I thought I had dealt with my trauma by attempting to stage my greater suicide attempt.


Life toys with my perception -some days I laugh – other days I scream at the injustice of the helpful folk who saved my life without my consent
I’m present – I’m still here.
This is my journey. I’m seeking help. I hope to find peace before death shrouds all philosophical thought.

SUICIDE ATTEMPT 25?
I’m still alive
SURPRISE! -no mask

Oh, wait the mirror betrayed me when I stopped seeing myself without a glare.

https://www.samaritans.org/support-us/campaign/world-suicide-prevention-day/http://WORLD SUICIDE PREVENTION DAY






https://www.samaritans.org/support-us/campaign/world-suicide-prevention-day/http://WORLD SUICIDE PREVENTION DAY

I’m the woman who feels her mind unravel every single day. I’m that woman who will drop (almost ) anything to be loved, liked and to try and be there for people. I am that woman who thinks I am one step away from insanity. One meal away from sitting with others -in the cafeteria suffocating with all the beldam and discourse of those who have held all their pain and confusion inside for too long.

I am terrified I am losing my mind. I have panic attacks, social anxiety, Chronic Anorexia and Bipolar. I’m am that woman who sees every one I love (or now)know that I do love get sick or die around me. Drop-dead.

The black sheep. I forget what I want to say. I doubt my self. I think too much. My biggest secret is I want to be grounded. I do! I seem to be caught up in the cycle of escapism. Escapism not in the form of writing, dancing or talking or being cool with me, but I feel myself inching closer towards ‘the dark soul of the night’.

I want to be saved. I question my faith. Did I ever have faith in anything other than toxins that would take me away from my current emotions?

Yet… even though I am the girl shunned by family and friends, I seem to reel it back in. I wind my mind and wrap it into a neat little bow. Always a different colour. I survive. I don’t know how or why.

Well.. I do. I am a mother, woman, daughter, friend and I have a purpose to fulfil. In my most delirious moments, I find myself inching towards praying to my own mother’s version of God. That biblical character. It frightens me to conform. I don’t want to be brainwashed by society and religion and politics. I don’t want to fit in. I want to be accepted.

I find joy in music and dancing. I find sense in writing. I write to recover.

Did I do a Faustus? I did. A long time ago, in between going to a catholic nun run a school, having Jehovaha’s witness lessons after school and then going to get “drunk” in the Lord’s spirit with, my mates, in the evening. I sought out Satanism. I asked it to take me and I lost my way.

That sounds crazy. I’m running empty on spirituality. Mortality is harsh and fleeting. I cry every day for me, my family, even those who hate me so.

I have to move on and let go. Many say I’m too hard on myself. Do we all feel like a fraud?

Knocking on doors for help. What’s the worst that could happen? I end up alone? Forced to be content with this body, this mind, this personality.

I can’t go back. It’s easy to want to go back when the future is so uncertain. In the distance it reveals that is is not benign. It is a vast tumour. There is no way to stop time. It’s an entity independent of reality.

I’m told I need to look within. look after me. Find my place in this world. I’m still here.

I wanted to die. I nearly did.No bright lights.No memory of the ambulance, the police smashing down my door, the room in Intensive Care.

I’m still here. Every time I think I can’t get through with my day or be with myself, time passes and I’ve survived. I’m reminded of Alan Watts famous clip’ What do you desire?’

Be happy or die trying.

To be continued…