Somber Times.
Mid July.
I spent my time getting high.
Out beyond
my four walled tomb,
I’d hear the joyful shrieks
from the children on the street,
rising to meet
the horizons
peak.
And
I’d think
back.
Back
to a time
when the day
would stretch on
for weeks.
When I truly
believed
in fairies,
and didn’t
isolate myself
for weeks.
Gaza is Burning
Yet the ones who have
the most power
to stop it,
Have turned a blind eye.
Turned a blind eye
loaded with weapons
of mass destruction.
They don’t care about
the buildings,
homes and families
ripped apart.
They don’t care about
the bags of body’s
piling up.
They don’t care who they were,
who they loved
or were loved by.
They don’t care how old
or how young.
They don’t care about anyone.
They don’t care about
the culture lost.
They only care about
Profits.
No matter the cost.
Money. Money. Money.
Is all they care for.
Oh sorry, I just fell
down the back of the sofa.
Got lost in all the crud
& shit I
forgot I got lost down there.
I thought I was
just a ball of cathair
& crud
for a while there.
The cathair I minded
not so much.
But the crud would
weigh me down.
Block me out.
Untethered &
in despair.
I thought I was going nowhere.
Then a
cat claw came down
& spiked
me in the
eye.
I thought I was
ready to
die.
Until,
Pulled up
from the crud
by the
claw
piercing my eye
I saw the
horizon
start to rise.
The sun breaking the clouds
I remembered
my wings.
I remembered
my soul.
I remembered how to breathe
and sing.
An unseen beast,
it stalks its prey.
So small and invisible,
hard to believe,
there’s a chance it could be deadly.
Wash your hands and stay inside,
your only protector.
Beware the unseen hunter.
Protect the old
and protect the young.
Protect the sick,
and the healthy too.
But even then,
your not certain to be safe.
Beware the unseen beast.
******
I wrote this the other day while out on one of my state-sanctioned hour long walks, while trying to get some semblance of meditation done. I’d stopped by a bit of water and was sitting watching swans and ducks bob by, wondering what their lives were like and what they were thinking, when the first few lines popped into my head and I just went with it from there.
I haven’t written on here, or anywhere else for that matter, in a long time because my perfectionism has been really bad and I’ve been terrified that everything I produced would be shite. That because my blog isn’t really the best looking aesthetically and because I don’t really know how to use WordPress or any website builder type thingy merjig, I was just wasting my time even trying.
But I know now that these are lies.
Sure, I find all this wordpress/blog building stuff really confusing and I feel like a total tube, cause I feel like I should know how to do it, but theres no reason why I can’t learn.
And so what if it’s shite, I can always learn from my mistakes and make it better.
My head likes to lie to me, it likes it wrap me in a tight blanket of self doubt and self hate and even though it feels so warm and familiar….it’s suffocating and today I say, no more.
I hope y’all are having a wonderful evening, night, day or afternoon! 😁
Remember to stay inside and stay safe, or stay protected and vigilant if staying inside isn’t an option 💪🏻❤️
Anxiety.
Anxious.
I try not to be.
Be reasonable,
there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Just people.
People aren’t scary.
My heartbeat says otherwise.
There’s nothing to be afraid of.
I can’t stop sweating,
I can see and hear everything.
Hyperaware…..that’s what it’s called.
I think I’m going to be sick.
No need to be afraid, I tell myself.
But, everything else is telling me otherwise.
I feel like crying.
Like disappearing,
going into my house and never leaving.
******
I wrote this at LGBT group last night, as part of a poetry workshop.
I was feeling really anxious, as you can probably tell by le poem, so I just wrote what I was feeling in that moment, my physical responses and thought processes.
I didn’t think it was that great….pretty shit actually but when I shared it, I had a pretty positive response. Some people said that they could relate to it, which actually felt really good. It sounds weird….but a lot of the time my anxiety makes me feel really alone and hearing that others can relate makes me feel like less of a lone shaking leaf.
Obviously, I know that other people experience anxiety but because it’s not always obvious and fairly easy to hide, it’s really easy to feel like the only one.
Especially when Niagara Falls levels of sweat is rolling down my back and I feel like I’m going to start screaming from the stress, ‘The Grinch tries yoga’ style.
So, I’m sharing this today, in hopes of helping someone else feel a little less alone.
I hope y’all are having a wonderful day, hopefully not filled with anxiety.
If you are struggling (with anxiety, or anything), here are some healthy coping mechanisms, especially for if your out and about:
This blogpost contains content that some readers may find distressing or triggering. Unless you feel you are at a sufficient place in your recovery or do not struggle with an Eating Disorder-or any food related issues for that matter-I suggest you give this one a miss.
Personally, I can’t actually read back a lot of what I’ve written in relation to my mental health. I sometimes can but I have to be careful cause words can invite you in. If your not in a good place or even an okay place, the wrong words can invite you in and trap you.
******
An eating disorder is a monster
that hijacks your mind, body, and soul.
It eats away at your brain,
making sure that every day there’s less of you left.
Taking away every fragment of you.
Replacing each discarded piece
with a piece of itself.
Each action, interaction
is dictated by the beast.
Everything that makes you unique
sucked away into an endless vacuum.
It takes your voice
and locks it away.
So no matter how loud you scream,
how long you beg it to stop,
no one will never hear you.
It ensures that any relationship,
apart from the one between you and it,
is cut.
Or at the very least
kept at arm’s length.
It takes everything
until the only way to get rid of it,
is to get rid of you.
When I’m feeling
stressed,
anxious,
depressed.
I pick at my skin,
it always helps,
I dunno why.
I’m always picking away,
squeezing away,
all the imperfections.
Making imperfections,
while removing them.
I think there imperfections
but
they might not be there.
I always think,
‘What if I’ve got skin cancer,
I need to squeeze out the skin cancer’.
I think there’s something wrong with me
cause
I don’t think others think like this.
Claw at their skin,
with fear of disease.
All the while,
most likely,
creating disease.
*TRIGGER WARNING*
This blogpost contains content that some readers may find triggering or distressing. Only read if you feel able cope the subject matter of sexual based trauma.
I wrote this last night when I was drunk, quite a running theme for when I write emotional poetry…the only time I can write about bad stuff that’s happened…which probably isn’t great.
Anyhoo….here it is:
Please don’t talk to me,
Please talk to me,
I’m sorry I’m not here,
I checked out a while ago.
I always want to talk to people,
but I can’t.
I feel that when the bad thing happened,
his dick stole my voice,
stole an essential part of my soul.
Lots of terrible things happened before that,
but after that,
that one particular night,
2 hours to be exact,
I couldn’t find it within myself to talk,
to even look at others.
It’s like,
everything that happened just took over,
became an unbudging boulder,
over everything.
Leaving only a half-assed attempt mask of who I was before.
Thankfully most people can’t see through it,
Can’t see how truly destroyed I am.
How much I’m not really here.
******
This poem is about rape and about how he took so much more than my dignity. I feel like my dignity was somewhat easier to get back….I think. This is really difficult to write (talk) about.
I think people think that I’m being rude when I don’t talk to them or run away from them when they try to speak to me but that’s really not the case…I get afraid…terrified that people can see how much pain I’m in. I also can’t socialise the way I used to anymore, I can’t strike up casual conversation, I can’t joke around and laugh at trivial things anymore, I’m afraid that people can see how awkward and different I am now. I don’t like meeting up with people I knew before because I think they can sense that I’m not the same and I want to be the person that they knew but I’m really not. I also used to be really good at making new friends, starting up conversations from nowhere but even that’s harder than making cheese out of playdough. A lot of the time I also just don’t have anything to say, like all my words, my ability to make words has been taken away, sucked into an endless unforgiving vacuum. The effort it takes to try and pretend that the worst thing that could have possibly happened didn’t indeed happen is astronomically tiring. It makes me want to spend all my time alone because then I don’t have to speak, don’t have to put on an act, I can just breathe and be me. Me who is now very quiet.
(I feel I should add this; CBD oil has helped me deal with these issues quite a bit and I’m on a journey to getting my good auld sociable self back but it’s still really difficult and I’ve got a really long way to go. I can, at the very least, say that I am trying and I try to take each day as it comes. I guess all you can do is try and hopefully one day you’ll get to your destination.
I’m also still able to talk to close friends, some family members, and a few workers, which I’m very thankful for but I can’t go through my whole life being mute around everyone else, especially when I’d love to talk to everyone.)
I don’t know if any of this makes sense but I know that nobody really reads this so I guess it doesn’t have to make sense. I guess I’m using this as a coping mechanism and nobody else has to view it for it to work for me.
I wish I could share this with more people but I feel so up my own arse sharing the link, like I think it’s great and I’m proud of myself for being able to write about stuff but I think/worry that I’m oversharing and people just want me to shut the fuck up.
I hope that anyone who reads this enjoys it and has a wonderful day. 🙂
Grief is like an ocean,
one minute your surfing its waves,
sun shining down,
a melancholy sadness
hangs in the air.
You remember all the times you spent together,
whether good or bad.
It’s sad and it’s painful,
but you accept that death is part of life.
Grief feels heavy.
Heavy like your wearing a suit made of rocks.
A suit made of rocks, a boulder at your heart
of random memories,
the next,
your drowning,
being dragged down by rocks
your weeping into your coffee,
drowning in an ocean.
******
This poem doesn’t necessarily make sense but neither does grief.
23/01/19
Do you ever have those days when you think you have it together?
Like you’ve planned out your outfit and exactly what you’re going to do?
And then you realise that you don’t have any clothes cause despite having put clothes in the washing machine you haven’t actually turned it on in weeks?
And you think to yourself, why the fuck is it so difficult for you to complete a simple task?
You think…I can do this.
It’s easy.
You go back to the machine, cause at this point you’ve walked away.
You approach it.
*SIGH*
It’s okay.
It’s a simple task.
You take a quick glance at the basket.
It’s piled high with clothes.
Not literally.
It should be though…
With the amount on the chair in your room.
You’re practically drowning in dirty clothes.
You only need to wash them and sort them.
It’s a simple task.
Just wash them and sort them.
Sort them into separate piles.
Keep and pass on.
It’s not that hard.
Just get it done.
It’s a simple task.
******
I dunno if this is a poem or what but I wrote it the other day when I was feeling especially stressed out. Since then, I’ve done some of my washing…..mostly pants-but it still feels like I’ve got a mountain to conquer. And conquer, I will. Hopefully.
I hope y’all are having a wonderful worry-free Tuesday! 😊
Introvert on the Internet 
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