I will tell you about selfish people…

Rupi Kaur

“I will tell you about selfish people. Even when they know they will hurt you they walk into your life to taste you because you are the type of being they don’t want to miss out on. You are too much shine to not be felt. So when they have gotten a good look at everything you have to offer. When they have taken your skin your hair and your secrets with them. When they realize how real this is. How much of a storm you are and it hits them.

That is when the cowardice sets in. That is when the person you thought they were is replaced by the sad reality of what they are. That is when they lose every fighting bone in their body and leave after saying you will find better than me.

You will stand there naked with half of them still hidden somewhere inside you and sob. Asking them why they did it. Why they forced you to love them when they had no intention of loving you back and they’ll say something along the lines of I just had to try. I had to give it a chance. It was you after all.

But that isn’t romantic. It isn’t sweet. The idea that they were so engulfed by your existence they had to risk breaking it for the sake of knowing they weren’t the one missing out. Your existence meant that little next to their curiosity of you.”

Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey

Gosh this speaks so loud to my soul

Disentangle

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You say we were two lives that need to disentangle.

But really some of each other became the other one.

That’s the problem. Where do you stop and I begin?

It’s less un-knotting and more a case of cutting it out.

It’s not like cutting out fat, sugar and carbs for my diet to make myself more attractive.

If I do this then I crave the bad.

Maybe I let a remanent of us remain?

It’s a dangerous game, I binge then purge.

More than that its like something that’s diseased.

You cut the tumour out stop it spreading.

I find rancid places to cut you out.

A surgeon, a butcher, a self-harmer.

I peel the taste buds from my tongue

because they shared a love of flavours,

that only we could understand and create.

A menu bittersweet.

I gauge the black place in my heart.

Like cutting the mould from cheese to preserve the rest.

Yet you always worry there’s some you didn’t remove,

and you’ll end up all bile inside.

I remove objects and reminders from my home.

Like cutting the pieces of a stencil,

to make it make a new pattern.

I like the way it looks better than before.

I cut poisonous people out of my life,

it’s an attempt to make it happier, but really I’m afraid.

Scared of their judgement,

because that’s what I became.

Some cut the story from the paper

in order to remember and celebrate.

But the card from last year which says ‘I’m still glad I’m in love with you’

is better forgotten as a manipulative lie.

I cut the nails from my toes,

to stop gouging out the flash at the sides.

Occasionally I don’t do it straight enough,

those feet that danced together become hot and infected.

I dig at my flesh, open wounds and peel back scabs.

I cut you out of me but I keep forgetting where me ends and you begin.

I bleed a little to prove I’m still alive,

and it’s still possible to hurt.

Maybe I’ll let a small piece stay,

like an inked scar to mark the moment we were one.

Is this violent act self harm self-preservation? Cruel to be kind?

I cut away part of myself to make room for more.

From A Closet In Norway (Oslo Blues)

I would rather be any place but here

Spin the bottle or roll the dice, my dear
‘Cause I can’t care, I can’t seem to break my fall
It seems I would rather be any place at allSo if the world is round now, why can’t we have everything?
‘Cause the highs are so high, these lows are killing me, killing me, killing me

I remember when wind would make me cry
I remember when wasn’t afraid to die
I wish I’d never, never fallen in love
So take this soul I sold, I’m going back in time

So if the world is round now, why can’t we have everything?
‘Cause the highs are so high, these lows are killing me, killing me, oh, they’re killing me

Seems the dying are the only ones that really know how to live
It seems the dying are the only ones that really know how to live
Seems the dying are the only ones that really know how to live
It seems the dying are the only ones that really know how to live

 



Sick in the head

So lets have a little chat about mental health… well my mental health.

I actually don’t know where to start. From about 15 I experienced manic and depressive episodes. I’ve also had severe anxiety for a long long time. There have been a plethora of traumatic life events and my physical health is screwed. But the past few years have been relatively stable for me compared to the past. It’s had its ups and downs.

What I didn’t realise was my relationship, which once allowed me to be me, was becoming toxic. I was being suffocated and dimmed until I didn’t believe in my self any more. At home I was walking on eggshells incase I upset the one person that made me so happy and free. Or shouting because I was literally being ignored and he pretended I wasn’t speaking; I thought I was going crazy. In fact I was told repeatedly I was. I’d be ignored for sleeping on the wrong side of the bed, and cry on my own whilst he went out.

I was lured into staying at home whilst he went out because of my illness and I withdrew more and more. I tried to manipulate time together and control this not realising what I was doing and that something was deeply wrong. Anxiety at leaving the house was returning and I never spoke about my life and what I was doing. I’d listen to hours on end to his problems and help him solve them. Coaching the other person to be a better person and neglecting myself.

My physical health was going hand in hand with this silent gagging. I felt permanently guilty for the unexciting, fat, ugly monster I’d become. He always said it would be ok and I was still beautiful, these were lies.

Then there was the courting other people. Horrid toxic people. My intuition has always been good and alarm bells were ringing. But I was forced to let these people into my home and berated for questioning it. Then came the series of public humiliations in front of them. He was no longer fighting for me, or with me, but hurting me.

Alongside this my physical health with auto-immune was slipping and I couldn’t cope with any of it. I was going to appointments on my own now and feeling very frightened. He got angry when I needed an ambulance. In the end he had to be told it was odd that you’d rather be at work (or maybe fucking that girl) whilst I was having a lumbar puncture.

I was fighting a battle with the world to say I really am sick, please believe me, I’m not a fraud. I’d drive to work in so much pain I’d stop and vomit 3 or 4 times along the way. I let people down and got so muddled. It was like daily torture. I earned less and less and he made me feel like a burden. I desperately tried to keep earning and budgeting. Quite often I was covering up his big mistakes and lavish lifestyle. I agreed to put my name on a huge loan so he could get a brand new motorbike we couldn’t afford that was impractical and feeding his image. I was made to feel bad for not being able to ride it.

I heard my friend’s story about domestic abuse and alarm bells rang. I ignored them because I still believed in him but it was there, I was in love with a narcissist:

  • Love Bombing – He made me feel so special, this was it and I was the one. He promised me the absolute world and went above and beyond to win my love.
  • They can’t admit when they’re wrong. – He never ever said sorry even if he was proven wrong. You’d make me beg for forgiveness or tell me I was going mad.
  • Conversations are one-sided. – in the end I was helping him run his business but he didn’t even realise I was directing a play!
  • They’re really, really ridiculously good looking. I was made to listen to hours of how he got girl’s and guy’s numbers over the bar and was the most good looking guy at work. I was always made to feel lucky then ugly.
  • Their brand of empathy is self-motivated. Being the kindest most generous person in public was his forte, and it tricked us all into thinking he was so kind. It wasn’t like this at hime, the brooding moods and hours of silence or being picked apart showed that.
  • Your needs and requests don’t matter. So in the end I got so sick I couldn’t move, I felt terrible that he was my carer. I’d not ask for ages but then not being able to get upstairs for meds or into the kitchen for food. I’d guiltily ask for help or painkillers. He’d then stretch the time out as long as possible till I’d beg like he had some kind of control. It was torture yet always my fault. And the same was happening with our dogs as he neglected them then blamed me.

So towards the end I couldn’t work and was in and out of hospital. The experts were still saying it was OK, I was not OK. I was in pain most of the time and not coping, I was taking a lot of painkillers and 9 different meds everyday. I didn’t go out or forced myself to be exciting then be in bed for a week in agony.

All of this went on relentlessly and I was trapped in a cycle of pain, misery, bullying. Then we had to move house, I was exhausted. I knew he was cheating but made to feel so awful I didn’t have the self worth left to confront it. I was fucking up work and working like a maniac. I suddenly realised I was having suicidal thoughts.

I was very scared by this point and spent hours fantasising and planning. I tried to voice it but he didn’t listen. I got so sick with migraine I needed an ambulance but he wouldn’t ring one and then abandoned me.

Then out of hospital a week later I had another crippling migraine. I left the wedding we were at telling him why I couldn’t stay. I drove myself 45 minutes home then the vomiting came. I text to see where he was. I now know he was cheating. He came home and his only words were ‘its over there’s no talking about it’. Whilst I was at my weakest and most vulnerable he baled.

That was it for me. The switch finally flipped. My first reaction was flight, so I ran, my head full of ways to hurt myself. But I walked it out and bravely returned to the house to ask like an adult to talk about it. I wanted a reason why, to fight through it. To understand the cruelty and to be stripped of all control over my own life. I know now that he chose this moment because I was so sick and he is a coward. I also think he was in a corner and cheating. This is not how you treat someone after 6 years of building a life together. My voice was smaller than ever.

In one moment my life, trust and my home had gone. I already had lost my work and income and then my health was so bad. There was not an area of my life that was OK.

So I decided to end it. Not for attention or a cry for help. I just wanted peace. It’s hard to say I didn’t want to kill myself but it’s true. I really just wanted to sleep and not wake up. In that moment the pain of the world was just too much and I couldn’t go on. I panicked. I still in a way am annoyed that I wasn’t allowed to make my own choice.

It happened again two weeks later when he said the most terrible things to me after I found proof of the cheating. Even I didn’t realise how low he’d go in the moment of my pure brokeness. Telling someone they are mental and need help doesn’t help them but makes them panic. Panic that everyone will agree and say ‘lucky you escaping from that’. Saying ‘its been dead for years’ is the most hurtful thing he could ever ever say to someone who invested so much. There are things that were said that I cannot even write now as they are too painful. They make me want to vomit they were so degrading and bad. I flipped, went through anger and crazy. I shouted as loud as I could for help to those around me and I was saying I’m not OK. The next thing I knew were the police were climbing through my window and threatening to section me. I had tried to sleep again.

See there’s always a story behind the mental health and mines supposed to be down to my physical health and nervous system damage on top of all of this trauma. I’m not ashamed of my actions at all. I only worry that I still am a burden to others and let them down or scared them silly.

I didn’t actually mean to write this post at all. It was going to be something more generalised about mental health. But it kind of all fell out onto the page. One of the hardest things I’ll ever write and this is so paired back.

I’m also not a victim, I don’t want you to see me as that, I am always trying to fix things. This time my energy and life force ran out. My buttons were pressed. My control taken away. I really did choose flight but now I know I am full of fight. Bring it on. I survived this and now I want to do it my way.

 

Bird. Moon. Mirror. Lighthouse. Wolf

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There’s a caged songbird in my chest,

It’s meant for the sky and riding the air.

It forgot how to fly.

It flutters and bleats and can see the other side,

but my ribs hold it captive.

 

There’s a moon in my head,

Its meant for the ocean and to follow the sun.

It forgot how to shine.

It waxes and wanes and can see a path,

but my skull holds it prisoner.

 

There’s a broken mirror in my eye

It is meant to reflect beauty,

It forgot to be present.

Now it only see’s a painful past,
my gaze holds it there.

 

Theres a lighthouse in my soul

It’s meant steer the ship through the storm.

It’s light is buffered by the wind.

It looks to the future and brighter days,

but it’s light is dull against the fog

 

There’s a wolf in my body, 

It’s meant to be brave and care for it’s own.

It lost it’s pack.

It licks it’s wounds and takes time to heal. 

It will bear these scars with pride.

 

Never


Part of me wishes we’d never met.

That we’d always been lone wolves and never a pack. 
Never swam and chased underwater or danced and laughed at our four left feet.
Never caught trains on adventures and driven for miles whilst playing silly games to make it pass by.
Never stood so proud of each other whilst watching girls on roller skates collide. 
Never hunted the magical potions created in bars. Two maraschinos please oh and an espresso martini.

Never created delights to feed each other and had kitchen meltdowns to match.

Never hidden from the world under duvets whilst eating mountains of pizza and ice cream just to be together.

Never thrown pizza off cliffs and shouted from balconies into the London night sky.

Never had ignored each other whilst drawn to screens or watched series upon series back to back whilst I asked too many questions.

Never have had mad making projects in which I had the idea and you made it happen. 

Never put dusty records on the record player and sat in our pants.
Never been humiliated by our daft dogs, taught them to swim or snuggled as four.
Never have enjoyed making fires inside and out. Never have foraged for food and dragged home tree limbs with guilty faces.

Never have made lemon meringue pie with all my heart but it’ll never be your mums.

Never have spent hours making and finding the perfect gift to make each other just to know how wanted we were.

Never have barbecued in the rain.

Never have put the world to rights with a shared intensity. Anger in our words for peace and a better place.

I’d never have thrown your shoes over the wall or teased you about your new clothes.

Never have held hands in the cinema and felt our hearts race at being side by side in the dark. 

Never have invented the film rule or searched endlessly for the tiny remote.

Never have shared Sunday mornings in bed as the closest time together.

If only we’d never met…

I wouldn’t have given you that hug at the gate thinking you still cared. 

Or woken up from the pills to hold your hand and look into your eyes for an answer to the pain I’d tried to take away.

In that moment I trusted you still and believed you cared and we connected. 

But all of the nevers were lies.