An Ode to my Mother

you carried me with you,

you created a monster,

you gave birth to a girl,

whose mind is an impostor.

not what you had in mind

when you wanted a baby;

you spent half your life

trying to save me.

I know you tried to do

everything you possibly could,

you always tried to love me

the way a mother should.

I was born broken

in sickness and in trauma

but its not your fault

I never really had a father.

I can only promise to forgive

but I’m sorry I can’t forget,

that you spent half your life

living in regret.

your hurt and hatred

passed onto another generation

such tragic magnetic chaos

from an awful situation

I can’t thank you enough

for everything you have done

I’m sorry I can’t be something better

but whats done is done.

even when I’m mad

or when I think I hate you,

you are still my mother

I can’t do anything but love you.

I could shout a thousand apologies

I could stand naked in the rain

but that wont make up for anything

or any of this pain.

I am a part of you

you are a part of me

we carry the same pain

the same burden, unfortunately.

I can’t think of the right words

to tell you how much I love you,

or to explain how I would break down

when the day comes I should lose you.

I can only try to appreciate

the little things you do

this is an ode to my mother

I love you.

 

 

 

Every Day Distractions

This is something I wrote at university and it was inspired by Geraldine Kim’s “Povel”. The concept is that the writing combines poetry in the form of a novel whilst using total inspiration from ones stream of consciousness.  Povel is, in the author’s own words: “a successful merging between confessional verse poetry and the novel”.

Allen Ginsberg wrote the incredible “Howl” thinking nobody would ever read it but that’s what made it so beautiful; it was from the heart. This was probably one of the most honest and raw pieces of writing I have ever done. Just be warned that this isn’t for the faint-hearted.

I hope you like it.

 

Every Day Distractions

Keep a journal for a week. I’m so angry all of the time. Sweaty fat men on trains fuck off. See ex boyfriend. I shake and cry. I’m so tired of waiting. He seems so happy it makes me angry. Three vodka and lemonades later… he still looks happy. I hate him. I hate her. I hate myself. I eat homemade curry. I drive to Leighton Buzzard and get fucked up on rum, whisky, beer, ketamine and MDMA. I have an out of body experience in a dark nightclub. Flashing lights may cause epilepsy. Strange man with dreads takes photo. Flashing lights may cause epilepsy. I come out of my hole. Hard-tek, techno and bass. I don’t want to leave. I sniff some more and float in space. I stole my mums credit card and took more money out. “One cheeseburger, two double cheeseburgers, Mexican chicken meal with a diet coke, a medium normal coke and a garlic and herb chicken wrap.” We laugh at the fat spotty boy behind the window. I’m too wired to sleep and she won’t stop snoring. I lay awake and think of him.

I drive her to work in the pissing rain. I have my iPod and my jacket back, I still can’t sleep. I go to see another boy. He makes me tea and cuddles me in bed. We have a debate about Banksy. We watch Freaky Friday. I hope I don’t end up like Lindsay Lohan. I wouldn’t mind being famous. I still haven’t slept. I sniff more white powder. We kiss. I drink coffee and chat about shit for over an hour. I haven’t eaten. I drive home and he talks dirty to me. I kiss my Nan on the cheek. I own up to the stolen credit card. I go to work. We eat Chinese takeaway. I drink two glasses of red wine. I sniff some more. We watch crap Saturday night TV. Fuck celebrities. Fuck the jungle. Fuck everything. I lay in bed and we talk again. “I love your nipples; I want to be inside of you.” I love him. I hate him. I want to fuck him. I sleep into oblivion.

I am confused. I eat a bagel. I wash my hair. I am human again. I watch One Tree Hill to avoid doing work. I go to Tesco Express. “Mate, do you have any sliced ham? You know, like for sandwiches?” I hate ironing. I love my mum. My mum wants to get high. We eat roast lamb like a normal functioning family. I am fat. I stare at my phone. It gets dark by four o’clock. I regret the decisions I have made. Why can’t I be happy-go-lucky? “Bye. Love you. Take care. See you soon.” Me and my mum fight over clothes. I get high. I touch myself and think of him. He makes me sad and I feel let down. My heart aches as I fall asleep.

I wish I were rich. We shop at Primark. I buy leather hot pants in order to seduce him. “Have a nice day.” I eat the free food samples at Costco. I moan in the car to my mum. I bite my cheek and taste blood. My body aches.”Thinking of you”. “You too.” Fucking cunt. I’m not sure if I believe in true love anymore. I wish I could write. It won’t stop raining. Life after death. I get excited when I order new books from Amazon. My mum makes the best spag bol. The red wine goes straight to my head. The consequences of garlic bread “The morning after”. I consider drowning myself in the bath. The brandy burns my nose. I want to set myself on fire. I cry myself to sleep.

Creaky bedroom door wakes me, startled. “Time to wake up.” I hate Tuesdays. People on the Met Line reading “Broadshits and Tablies”. The lecturer is late. That red haired bitch needs to pipe down. We take a walk with the planes and talk about our feelings. I am lost in his touch, his scent , his kiss. Bang the mash, bangers and mash. Money can buy you happiness. The dinner table is always the centre of bad jokes. The distant crackling of fireworks still fills the November sky. “What’s more important? Who we become or how we become it?” I wait in vain.

Tea is the juice of Jesus. I feel like slamming my head repeatedly into my laptop. I can’t write any fucking more. I want a bucket of coffee. I find a red thread in my scrambled eggs at lunch; a red thread symbolises soul mates. I wonder if I am my own soul mate. All work and no play, makes me a very dull girl. All work and no play, makes me a very dull girl. All work and no play, makes me a very dull girl. I’m gagging for it. How many chances do we get before fucking it up is no longer an option? Being a woman is a good excuse to binge on chocolate. Cafe de Flore. I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

I need some fucking inspiration. I stereotype myself so I feel like I belong. T.F.I.F. Deadlines should be called Deadlives because that’s what we’ll be before the new year. Black Books and Quality Street distract me from my writer’s block. I can’t stop eating out of boredom. I am restless, I need a rest. I get high and listen to Fat Freddy’s Drop and High Contrast. A diet of carbohydrates and red wine is all the vitamins you need. My new books from Amazon arrive seven o’clock at night. Late night thrills on a Thursday. The weekend starts now. “Did you just spark up?” It all started with a Big Bang. We always pretend to know more than we actually do. Thanks to Facebook I catch up with old friends from ten years ago. Oh to be twelve again. The devil makes work for idle hands…

 

 

 

Follow your dreams

Scared of chasing your dream because of your mental health? Me too.

Ever since I can remember, I have always been in love with words, language and literature. From a young age I would bury my head into a book to escape reality. My reality was my parents having violent arguments, being bullied at school for being tall or having a weird name and just generally being totally misunderstood. I would pick up a book and the words on the page breathed life into me and my unhappy childhood. The stories I read were a place I didn’t have to explain myself or give into fear. They taught me how to dream, to love and to believe.

It was from my younger self that I continuously grew this unconditional love for words and how they made me feel and express myself. When I was in my early teens, I tried to learn guitar so I could write songs to share with the world. Unfortunately I grew bored and frustrated with learning how to play it (I was always a little impatient, even now), but what was left instead of songs was my first selection of poems. I was just 15 years old. 13 years later to this day, I have a bachelors degree in creative writing and I still absolutely love to write, especially poetry.

So for me, my BIG dream is to one day become a well known and successful writer. Well, technically I am a “writer”, but I don’t make a living out of it properly and I’m certainly not well known or famous. Is that really how we measure our success? Not entirely I guess but it would be nice to be somewhat recognised for our “art”. Although I love to write and it is a massive part of who I am, it completely terrifies me that I am just not good enough, nor will I ever be. And this makes my dream feel even more unreachable.

You see, my “illness” is awful and unpredictable in every way possible. I wake up some days totally consumed with depression and suffocated with anxiety. It is crippling. On good days, I can get out of bed and communicate with people. I can even write a blog or two, go to therapy and go to the gym. But this is currently as good as my days get at the moment, and although it still doesn’t feel good enough, it is a massive improvement compared to a year ago, or even six months ago. I still lack motivation even to get up in the morning, even on my better days. I live in fear of not only not living up to my family’s expectations, but the expectations I have of myself. And those are the worst ones. My inner monologue haunts me every waking moment.

But these thoughts and feelings that hang over me like an unwelcome cloud of invalidation and deprecation will not force me to give up on my dream. I will not let it. Although it currently feels unobtainable, I know if I put my mind to it and work hard enough through the tears and anxiety, it will be incredible once I reach my goal. I believe hard work really does pay off, eventually. My experiences in life have taught me some valuable lessons and I will continue to dream, to love, to believe. Because if I don’t try and keep trying, I may never know.

It’s a huge climb to the top, but the view is magnificent.

Vast, empty, and infinite.

Today has been one of those awful days where I just can’t seem to shift my “bad mood”. For some reason I woke up incredibly grumpy and I just don’t know why. This is unfortunately one of the MANY things people with BPD suffer with. So yeah, not knowing why you’re in a bad mood sucks, sure. But the worst part? The worst part is STILL having to EXPLAIN yourself to close family members. They just keep on asking “What’s wrong?” or “Why are you in a bad mood?” or “What’s happened to make you feel like this?” I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, OKAY? If I did I would obviously say something, but I don’t. And it’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened either. IT happens A LOT. And it’s EXHAUSTING.

Imagine having this incredibly overwhelming feeling in your chest, in the pit of your stomach and a lump in your throat. And the continuous inner monologue of ALL of the voices in your head telling you that “you’re not good enough”, “you’re not trying hard enough”, “everyone thinks you’re a failure”, “nobody will ever understand you”, “everyone hates you” “you’re a freak”, “you have so much to do today and you can’t even get out of bed, you’re a mess”. As I write this, I am sobbing at the sheer emotional pain of it all. I am in constant fear and I am forevermore at war with myself. Most of which takes part in my own head because I can’t fathom why I am the way I am, let alone try to explain this to anyone else.

I am suffocating with infinite sadness and yet I am terrified for asking for help because people just don’t understand. All I want is for love, understanding and a bit of compassion, but that seems all too much to ask, even from my own family. I can hear my mum in my head now saying “But I thought you were getting better? I thought you were feeling better?”. Like even my recovery or my therapy STILL IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. Yes, I was feeling okay, and have been “coping.” But today I am just not doing so well. I have to accept it so why can’t anybody else learn to? Or if not, just leave me be. Leave me alone and I will come to you if I need you.

Basically, It’s hard enough having to deal with yourself as it is, let alone trying to help others “deal” with you. At the end of the day, I am on a journey to making myself better. And I am trying my god damn hardest to do that. And if that’s still not good enough? Well then that’s your problem, not mine.