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Silence

Is life just a formality to prepare us for death?
How many people have died in their God’s name in their moments of weakness and then died in those moments of weakness?
I don’t know where I’m going with this question but what does it say about faith and life and our different notions & preconceptions of death and our loved ones final resting place ?

My thoughts after watching Martin Scorsese film ‘Silence ‘

A film to make those who think think
👌👌👌
Just a thought…

Safe guarding warfare

How could you disguise  that face smothered in disgrace
By attempting to console me with that  condescending utterance: I could have held the EHA behind your back.

MY BACK!

The SS goose stepping all sloppy like they were in an Augustan rain parade.
The Gods mercifully laugh at the man below who believes he’s a Demi
Demon suckling off the maleficent mede milk of Zeus’s pseudo mother’s

udders.
Others like you Bongaard with your safe guarding a half littered candle of conscience.

Once philosophers sparked off concubines thesis in riddles.

Ticking off the boxes-she says, Flicking those remnant ticks off her manky teeth whilst she puffs and huffs out the front door.
Who do I talk to when I’m feeling mentally incapacitated ejaculating seems too complex to grasp?

  Bongaard can only gasp: Well, me of course, I’m your CPN.

She gestures to her limp, matted ginger vapid soul.
I’ll close the door behind you . Don’t bother I think, Insipid to the core if you can found them in that mass of fleshy ,ginger ,ruddy rotund-she’s invented a new geometric shape-I can’t help but watch her in unbelievable awe


Cos I know she daren’t turn back to gaze at a face that was and could still be hers if she didn’t have a profession to safe guard her. (roll of the eyes — only cos I need to lubricate my contact lenses) .

I’m not going to let her see me cry again.
Every session I hear her garbled muzzled diatribe  about her life,
her pain,
her suffering,
her gains,
her shames,
her pains;
her issues!
Bongaard, you are paid 24 K a year to do a job — shut your gob or do I have to show you where I hide the flipping cookie dough cream tub?

Find out how your’e gonna help me top help myself. I can’t do it alone I’m on both knees . How many suicide attempts do you have to sit through or read about or eat over with your unintelligible mind-space app and you archaic DBT clod splash therapy How many more gesticulations do I have to avert my perverted gaze because you blatantly cannot see.

The greatest heartache is the tears doubting this won’t be my last breathe my grande plan will find me in a goldie locks bed-wide awake , Paramedic-dejavu -ing that I gulet myself to A&E to get checked out.
Not in this state

of mind,

though

I still think  that ole Gemma is kind not like Rachel nor bongaard.
Gemma is divinity  at the cusp  of this dastardly  escapade-an epitome of life.

Flashback: Crisis team! trello that treble holler, I’m, feeling suicidal again 7 days coma near to death suicide

You’ll be fine, dearie, I’ll just put the receiver of these words out in the gutter with my ethics.

An outline silhouette frowns ready  to break his idle  bones
A lingering   chapati scent of a glazed woman longing to dance amounts the misfits in her town.

Welcome home-I love that sign — that font so silent so serene.
Solemn stare
You don’t care, my better half a Achilles heel screams spittle into the wounds I hold in infested band aids.

For another moment I feel ashamed-eyes don’t know wether to look at that piece of lint on the stairs or raise mine to give him a stand off that he would never attempt to stir the birth of all my misery that I can’t regulate my emotions even if it would stop my heart beat- finally

The fastitious musty gut butt dances in a disorder darned fashion Disintegrates the log piles.

The fire is gone . Yet, I cry for I felt it-a smudge on my morning complexion Yet, I cry for I am half doused by that arrow tic carved matchstick.

The archer

the poison

the apple

the madness

the fruit frilled guilt lasts as long as the hem of these petty coated words promoting the warfare of safe guarding our children in a bed ridden world based on a frame of text books.

Clean page

Passion

less magical

Cats demand cuddles
A clean page soaked wasted words written in piss yellow ink.

The music falls on deaf ears
Unread unopened books will let me down – or will it be my imagination?

I glance around the room of despair comfortably numb for three hours until a child smiles for her mom’s unfounded fears.

LOVE LESS
it won’t hurt much
scrub off the scent of his odour
bleach the bath with your morning shit
love costs more heartache.

The colony

My faith was tested by the colony

The cross bore into my chest like multiple sessions of ECGS

I thought I had forgotten what it was to feel like an honest me!

The strength of survival of the fittest

Compelled hope to flee

Or save me

My choice

Brainwashed for a profit

A racquet

Insidious to true inequality

I’m here

I’m an insurgent

Indulgently

Indignant to all the two faced flags

Denying

denoting

Independent thought

For the books to be written

of/

Off

philosophy

Clouded the dogma that corrupts those who believe in their infallibility

Water – a drop

A drop.

A drop.

A drop

Do not judge me

For my sapling survival

a birth of a scape goat to inscribe the words of a free spirit

With no country

I claim as my own

I am who I choose as my identity

Borderless

No government

No political movement can discriminate against my spirit

For I denounce those who cannot see the truth

In front of them

even when they kneel

Before nature

The only divine death

With nothing to face.

Sincerely,

The unknown scripture of abandonment sans fear

These are my words part 10

I am

I am the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.
Wonders if my life  purpose is to laugh and tease.

I hear the hair raising scream
I see the  barbed wire , a body electrocuted   two feet away from my mortal skin

I want to avert my eyes – It never happened , pretend all is okay.
I am the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.

I pretend to be helpless
I feel I repeatedly sin. Stuck in a mind that can’t  learn from mistakes.
I worry the world is passing me by, time doesnt care if I can’t leave the past to drift off out of peripheral vision.

I cry because I am to blame for feeling insignificant.
I am the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.

I understand my insight is a double edged sword
I say I have courage yet honestly I’m  not sure how much.
I dream to travel away from the houses visited each slumber night. Subconscious give me solitide.
I try to be funny, charismatic and loyal.
I hope the people I hold dear to me won’t  leave me
Though I  suspect they will.
I am the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.

I am daisy

Daughter of Rose

Who needs love, loyalty, laughter

Who loves music, silence, decadence

Who sees lonely people, people better off, empty glasses once full of hope

Who hates curves on herself, being misunderstood, bad odour

Who fears abandonment, rejection, gossips too

Who dreams of career growth, success, beauty to blossom from within

Who has found forgotten poems, memory gaps, words unable to recognise as her own

Resident of no fixed abode

Willows

The beast that is nature

It’s mental health awareness week in the U.K.

This time last year I  was in a coma after trying to take my life-again. I woke up 9 days later on my mom’s birthday. I don’t  think I  have come to terms with the fact that I am still alive. These past fews days  my mental health has been deteriorating and I’m  trying my hardest to fight these sodding demons in my head.
I’ve  been feeling suicidal again. I have everything to live for.
It doesn’t  mean the thoughts go away.
I fight my battles every single day and I  reach  out even if its to get away from my head  for a few minutes.
I can’t  have a head transplant or swap my head with some one else for an hour.
Self medicating rarely works or makes me feel good so I  push myself to reconnect with life in different ways again.

It’s  mental health awareness week and maybe by being in nature , trying to get out of my head may help.
Maybe by just going through the motions even though my thoughts carry on chattering  away it doesn’t matter. The act and the intention is what matters.
For a few moments I’m  distracted by some other nature that isn’t my own…
Suicide isn’t the answer. I will carry in telling myself this until I  believe it.

My story hasn’t ended.. life has a greater purpose, I
#mentalhealth  #mentalhealthmatters  #mentalhealthawarenessmonth

Entry three

Lo and behold!

(A slightly dramatic introduction). However, it’s inspired me to write about my recipe for kindness. I went to pick up B from school and she thrust a pamphlet in my hand.

It’s magic,mom! Ok , I realised the reason she thinks it is magic:it is a map that requires a powerful

ancestor with a great recipe to fold it back up to it’s neat , once untouched form.

The theme: believe in yourself! I read this first activity and realised I need to do this activity more than my daughter does.

Kindess.

Kindness. Why not bake a cake of kindness ? Add your own ingredients?

If I had to bake my own cake of kindness this is the recipe:

4 TBSP’s of no shit taken off people who don’t reiprocate your kindness wirh the respect you value.

A generous helping of be kind to those you say no to.

3 drops of mouth sealant essence. We are born with 2 ears and 1 mouth.

Surely listening and then (filtering our words) answering is a better way of communicating because responding is more effective than reacting. Reacting is reactive. Too many reactions can become radio active. An explosion and a recipe for an unkindly disaster.

4x cherries dipped in sherbet (tart and sweet) to remind myself and others that I can be sweet most of the time but if my sweetness means they forget to sugar their cake then they may lose all of their teeth when I sweetly give them another tangy aftertaste they aren’t expecting.

The icing can’t be too fussy or too messy. Plenty colouring of all the colours I can find in my kitchen to show my values and beliefs respect all cultures, religions, genders and the rest.

1 x candle lit in the middle of the cake. So, that people who are tempted to indulge in my recipe for kindness, remember that my kindness cake will lose charm and taste if the candle dies out by being watered down or worn down with unproductive critism, respect for the effort I put into making a cake of kindness.

A solid sponge base with the ability to absorb peoples different opinions and views. It will be slightly dry to convey my dry sense of humour. Add a dollop of butter or cream ( adjust portion as needed) to subtly suggest a flavour that reminds other people that my kindness is an act based in reality My reality. Oh, and a degree of sympathy /empathy at the very least.

My dry remarks and after taste can be tempered by adjusting the measures of butter and cream to soften my natural essence of character.

The final impression I would want to leave with baking a kindness cake is :I accept that we all have different tastess and degrees of what a great kindess cake tastes like. I promise not to take another slice of another person’s kindess if it doesn’t conform to my ideals of the perefect cake. I don’t expect to force fed others another slice of my kindess if it doesn’t suit them.

Entry 2

Today, I heard the postman push through my mail. I opened one letter and my heart nearly dropped to the floor quicker than the letter did. My hands were trembling like an addict going into withdrawals.

It was the referral letter from my G.P. and mental health nurse to be assessed by the Adult eating disorder services in Leeds. When I picked up the letter to go and read it , I felt like I was drunk – the words were spread out , doubling over the next word, hazy and unreadable , hazy and clouding my vision then my judgement as I felt the tears wet my cheeks and watched then drip into the paper.

I’m unsure why I started to cry. A combination of Fear and relief?

Fear that I might be rejected from getting psychotherapy because I’m not thin enough. Since I’ve moved house -3 months ago, I’ve put on 6 kilos( nearly 1 stone).

Fear that I will get the help I want and face my Eating disorder willingly. I know it’s a headspace controlled by my eating disordered part of me. The space of the unknown. That moment in between.

That train of thought –to be ill I need to look ill.

My rational mind totally ‘gets it’. My emotions and feelings about the impending assessment took my thoughts back to the years I spent in and out of hospitals, the loneliness ( I still feel many days)felt, my dream career that I had to stop due to my health deteriorating linked in with my eating disorder, the isolation..

I still tend to isolate myself. Most days ,I struggle with getting out and socialising. Most people think I’m over confident.

These days I’m less rigid in my thinking around my eating disorder. I know it’s there. Hell, it chatters to me 24 hours a day 😂😭. I also know the amount of energy it takes keeping my weight at this level.

The thought of all the dedication and commitment to go back and actively starve myself to below 50 kgs fills me with terror because the life I’ve managed to create will have no meaning or purpose, if I let it consume my entire world , it’s a bit like,how I feel about my suicidal thoughts since my last suicide attempt in , May 2020. I remember the pain and terror of when I thought I had been abducted by aliens -when the truth is :I was in a coma for nearly 10 days.

Truth is: I was beyond terrified however, the suicidal thoughts don’t disappear completely.

I’m actively trying to get my weight down to 53-54. A weight loss of 3 -4kgs. My safe weight. Will I want to stop when I get to that weight or carry on chasing a deficit in numbers and chipping away at my character, self esteem and my personality simultaneously?

Just like an addict- adding fire to aid the beast of addiction to lash out flames of fury at me.

Many years have passed since I was last sectioned for anorexia. My life has transformed -no, I have an actual life that my imagination never ever could conceive. I was drowning in ignorance because my mental illnesses had told me things that I believed.

I’ve made goals and achieved them. Some goals were not planned until circumstances pertaining around them turned them into goals to conquer or over come.

  1. A daughter
  2. A husband
  3. My degrees in higher education
  4. Volunteering with mental health charities
  5. Eating the way I do today
  6. Conquerimg other obsessions and addictions-actively working to stay away from that behaviour
  7. Looking at getting back in to full time employment

There is the desire to be free of my eating disorder.

So much has changed in my life and what role my Eating disorder and obssesions play in my life

Conversely, not much has changed either…….. ( dot dot dot dot).

I didn’t want to write today. Small words about a big force that hangs over me.