(Petty Treason for) Amnesia

How it feels to lose your memory after significant trauma and/or triggered depression.

An analogy for amnesia

Imagine you were born out of hate and not love

Like you were a mistake on purpose

You grew up with memories

That you can’t quite illustrate

The lines are blurred

And you’re sure it’s a dream but can’t quite pinpoint when you fell asleep

If only you could wake up

Then you would know if it was real

or a figment of your imagination.

Demons

They always come to me

first thing, when I wake

even when I sleep and dream

My heart and soul they take.

They haunt me in daylight

They taunt me in the dark

Constantly clawing at my mind

And tearing it a part.

My Demons they always find me

no matter where I go

I’m restricted by these chains, bound by this pain

And my demons seem to follow.

They tell me I’m not good enough

As I try to right my wrongs

They tell me I should just give up

And that I don’t belong.

I live in a war zone

In the depths of my own head

Where living doesn’t feel like an option

And that I am just better off dead.

Cos no matter where I go

My Demons seem to follow.

Subterranean Consequential Blues

This is a poem I wrote which was inspired by Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues”.

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Subterranean Consequential Blues

 

Johnny’s in the basement

smoking on a crack

pipe

all alone in the dark

clingin’ to his dreams

tight

 

Johnny’s in the basement

he hasn’t got a

clue

he can’t even pay the rent

what’s he gonna

do?

 

Johnny’s in the basement

fighting for human

rights

making the world a better place

in his own fucked up

mind

 

Johnny’s in the basement

Burning a silver

spoon

He reckons he’s Neil Armstrong

He thinks he’s on the

moon

 

 

Johnny’s in the basement

he’s talking on the

phone

he’s saying “PLEASE HELP ME”

I can’t do this all

alone

 

Now I’m in the basement

But Johnny’s no longer

here

I don’t think he could take anymore

I think he got The

Fear

“They don’t love ME, they love the IDEA of me.”

What it’s like to “date” when you have depression and anxiety.

Dating and meeting new people, is quite possibly one of the most terrifying yet frustrating things to do when you suffer with depression and/or anxiety (or any mental illness for that matter). For me, there’s this voice inside my head telling me “Go! Have fun! You deserve it! You need some fun in your life, what have you got to lose?” This is my favourite part of my brain because it reminds me of the young, carefree girl I once used to be, before self doubt and paranoia took me hostage and my body started playing host to my “ugly sister”. She is the destroyer; the paranoid and self destructive part of me that constantly makes me feel totally worthless and incapable of any kind of love. And it breaks my heart every time, because I am reminded of the scared little girl I will probably always be; the girl who can’t let anyone too close, in fear of being abandoned.

I wish I could say it wasn’t always like this but I would be lying. I can’t for the life of me remember a time I felt safe, I felt sure of the “love” that surrounded me and the love that I [rarely] gave to myself. I have always felt like it’s some big joke that I was never “in on”. I never got the memo. I convince myself that nobody actually loves me, or even likes me for that matter. They simply tolerate me. They deal with me. My entire life feels like a lie and it’s torture. My body is there and my face is smiling, whilst my brain is conjuring up this elaborate story that everyone is literally out to get me. They pretend to like me. But in my own fucked up reality, they are here to tear down my walls, make me open myself up to them, to one day (quite possibly in the near future) turn around and laugh in my face. No I’m not making this up, and yes this is oh so very real for me.

Every time I open myself up to someone, every time I take a risk and go on a “date”, or let someone see the “real” me… it is absolute and utter torture, because inevitably, I will self sabotage everything I did or said, make that person HATE me and all because I would rather hurt them, than them be the one to hurt me. Because I just couldn’t bare it… couldn’t deal with it. At the end of the day I also honestly believe I am doing them a favour (which I obviously am) because who the fuck would want to know me, let alone love me anyway? I am broken. I am scarred. I try to tell this to people I meet all the time but they don’t seem to believe me. I tell them point blank that “I’m crazy” and they shrug and laugh it off like it’s some hilarious joke I have just made. No its not a joke. I genuinely feel this way and to me, it’s very fucking real.

Ironically, there is nothing more I want than for someone to love me and understand me. I wish there was some “magic wand” that I could wave to make all these incessant thoughts and feelings go away, that something would wipe this horrendous internal monologue clean from my brain, but unfortunately there is no such thing. SO until the day comes that there is a “miracle cure” for my stupid brain, I will undoubtedly push people away, regardless of who they are or what their “intentions” are, because that’s just the detrimental part of me I have unfortunately become accustomed to. And if you don’t like it? Well, get used to it because that’s just who I am. And it’s not like I didn’t fucking warn you anyway.

 

Between the Sheets (Sonnet)

A little sonnet I wrote a while back…

Between the Sheets

We wake late from depths of dreams.

I lick my lips as I feel the smooth cool sheets

On my exposed body.

You turn to look at me

Eyes only half open

I can’t help but smile at your curving lips.

Your soft hand

Finds my open thigh;

A gentle caress can only mean one thing.

Your body creeps closer to mine

Between the sheets.

As we touch lips

It is almost as if

I am still dreaming.

Poem

This was inspired by my favourite poem by Allen Ginsberg – “Howl” is one of my absolute all time favourites. This barely touches the tip of the “Howl” iceberg but this is my ode.

Untitled

The crisp cold air 

Crackled 

As the morning birds 

Sang their cries and cackled 

Humanity sank 

As their hopes were drowned 

By the insolent battle 

To be king and crowned  

 

The inconvenience of deviance 

Scattered 

As civilians were bruised 

And battered 

Crushed and pushed 

Their cries were silent enough 

But could not be hushed 

 

Scowls and sighs 

The train groans to a stand 

And the stench 

Of fresh sweat 

Escapes 

The closing doors 

 

The mundane, the insane, the inhumane 

Gather and unite on a tin can train 

They fight for the right of a seat or a space 

Use it as an excuse to put the weak in their place- 

This is the human race. 

 

I watched as the world turned apocalyptic 

With their guns and their knives 

And hypocritical political lives 

Continuously consumed by consumerism 

 

And parents cried 

With their knocked up drugged up fucked up children 

As the banks and the government 

Turned them away saying 

“No! you will not be paid benefits today!” 

 

Just begging and begging and praying and hoping 

Squashed, sweating and suffering 

On tubes of filth and strangers subtle fury 

With their books 

And their iPhones 

And their cheap smiles 

Taken with them to a lonely home 

 

Scratching their heads 

And rubbing their nose 

Thinking of things that no one will ever know 

Suits upon suits 

Faces upon faces 

Monotone voices over speakerphones 

Wailing babies and their shitty nappies 

And dribbling bubbling lips 

 

What are you looking at?