A dirty paintbrush into my lemonade ~ a poem

I love you
But I’m scared of what you’d make me into
I’m like clay
Muddy, upside down, slippery, undone.
Carve me.
I was a thousand things before I met you
Each time I thought that I’d found myself
But I’m one messy heck of a person
My head is a rose garden
Thorns, prickles, whatever they’re called
It hurts from time to time
But I’m sure you wouldn’t mind
I suppose it’s fine to be upside down and tongue tied.
But then
You.
A dirty paintbrush into my lemonade.
I worry about things like that
You tangling me up and unravelling me again
What a mess we’d make but I think we’d be smiling.
Paintbrush, lemonade, dirty.
You.

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Dissociation is not a joke. Take it from me, I have DPDR.

Dissociative disorders. They are dangerous and terrifying and confusing. They are not ‘oh I’m just dissociating’ or a funny joke like ‘haha I just dissociated for like 5 minutes’. I am diagnosed with DPDR (derealization-depersonalization) and it is pure and utter grief. It’s acting like another person entirely because you’ve lost your presence so much that all you can do is make physcial contact with people and say unusual things. It’s waking up in the night and sitting for hours not sure if you are real or who you are anymore. It’s hurting yourself because you’re not sure if you’re real anymore. It’s not knowing if your voice is yours or someone else’s. It’s like my body is completely disconnected from my mind and sometimes I have no idea whether the cracking of my knuckles is the sound of someone clicking a pen. It’s so much more than just feeling spaced out. It’s being stuck in your mind for hours not knowing how to get back to reality. I find it so scary that I could live my whole life with this response to distress just because of traumas and traumas that have built up in my life. It’s not a joke, it’s not something to be taken lightly. It’s a serious mental illness and it’s hell. I’m fighting it with all I can but it’s fucking hard. I am determined that one day I will be free of this. 💙

Dirty dirty flowers- a poem

I love showers in the morning
I love being too cold and then too hot again
Watching the silver dirt run down the plughole
Running off my cheeks, lips and neck
Washing it all away
Washing the dirt out of my hair
Washing all the dirty dirty flowers out of my hair
Tangled ivy stripped off my scalp by the chemicals and water
I’m uprooting and I’m regrowing and I’m drowning
All of my dirty dirty flowers.
Clean again.

Happy Halloween (a poem on mental health)

*trigger warning*

 

This house is haunted.

There are doors that slam in the night and

I feel cold hands slip into mine

from time to time

This house is cold and

I am followed by a ghost that

Makes me shed my skin from now and again

But it is far from dead

It is alive and screaming in the evenings

An unhappy family is a noisy one.

This body is haunted

No need for a costume

I have a wardrobe full of masks and capes and witches hats

To keep me warm on a cold night

Footsteps run from the back of my head to my eyeballs

And voices loud enough to make me shake

My body feels like a skeleton on bad days

My body is a skeleton some months

My mind is haunted

My brain a living nightmare playing over and over and over

And there is no running away from a mind you can’t escape

There are no nightlights in my head to keep the monsters away

Even on days where the only sound I know is

the beating of my heart on the inside of my skull

But I am not scared of monsters

You learn to steady the tremble

And sit through the jump scares

And wait for the morning

 

 

 

 

A Penny- a poem

~Living in a household of abuse and shouting almost constantly is no way to live~

A shout (a low voice)
A shout (a higher one)
A shout
Is all it takes for me
To become the size of a penny
And for the roof to come crashing down
A little penny
Rolling between his fingertips
Rolling down the stairs
Chased by a cat with moons in her eyes
Cold and metallic
Like blood in my mouth
Rolling with my thighs and feet up in the air
A penny
Inside a piggy bank
With no plug to pull
And I will roll away

 

 

Saying goodbye to the anorexia

Exactly one year ago, give a day or two, I relapsed yet again, hopefully for the last time ever. I have lost 5 years of my life to this illness and I refuse to listen to my anorexia. Since relapsing I have developed and intensified my countless other mental illnesses. But I will not do this anymore. I hope I never relapse. I don’t want to be anorexic anymore, I don’t want to be skinny, I don’t want to sick and I definitely don’t want to waste anymore of my life. I am so much more than my anorexia and each day I get stronger and it gets weaker. I look back on my relapse with sadness. That I thought that was the answer to my misfortune. I am recovering (almost recovered from my anorexia) because I love laughing, I love writing, reading, being cosy and warm, comfortable, safe and happy. I am recovering and I WILL recover. Goodbye anorexia, this is me finally letting go.

When it rains I feel better 

When it rains I feel better

Tears streaming down window pains 

Someone to cry with 

My face turned up to the clouds, mouth open,

Gulping rainwater until I have to stop for breath 

A tummy full of clouds almost kicks the feeling out of me

The feeling of things I should have done and have yet to do

Drunk 

Sticky sweet taste in my mouth that stops me from speaking 

It’s breathtaking 
Someone to cry with