Tag Archives: eating disorders

Grateful Milky chancer

(2 months ago and scroll down  to the bottom for today’s inspirational  track & lyrics – I’m so grateful)

 

We all say we want to disappear

By God, I truly want to conjure it and truly never come back from this planet.

I’ve tried so many times

And this might sound like Self -pity ( perhaps it is).

But I’m not here to get into it.

These are about my feelings.

I’m not a poet. I am just a person who has feelings & thoughts,

I’m not trying to hurt anybody.

I’m trying to live the best way I can,

I’ve tried to take my life many times (and) yet, here I am.

I do the best I can.

Deep pan Pizza, Fried chicken,Sushi, Proscecco.

Get my fringe trimmed,

My daughter, a mermaid’s tail.

My husband. Yes, I have sinned!

But I’m still here.

And all I want to do is disappear because I know that,

Eventually-

Everyone I love,

Everyone I know is going to be gone.

And I wouldn’t have made the bonds with the people who I brought into this Life

And the people who I’ve… met or come across.

I wouldn’t have secured any bonds.

I am lost

I am always forlorn.

Flawed, I wear my heart on my sleeve and

I cry. I pace this kitchen over & over

And no I don’t have an excuse for relapsing

And I don’t have an excuse for what I have done.

I just know that my heart was invested in it all and I’m trying to do the best I can!

I wish I wasn’t here. I have plans- is this a death threat?

I don’t know.

All I know is there is pizza cooking, and I’m on my last tether

Overdoses don’t do it.

Maybe hang myself?

I’m (just) so far gone. This is not even a poem.

 

 

(Today)

If you wanna switch off you could

I threw it away

Not realising I would come to call it my most favoured crown.

Fascinated seeing my self riding waves of the guilt

drowned in salt tears of rumination to the hilt.

letting mom down

all my fam too.

Those who truly love me.

There are but few.

Hot damn! That’s better than cool.

Gave self-destruction a permit to ride out a course of self-flagellation

decorated in sleuth

The truth hit me oops upside of my head

Discombobulated -I saw the truth.

I let myself down

I deduce.

Take me back to my roots.

Be nt over crooked

wrung my hands for people who haven’t left my life

Yet

Anticipate gloom & doom.

allow these drum beats to perform

my body afloat

on cloud nine singing cheerfully to the staying alive tune…

Regrettably, I’m responsible for this present predicament.

There goes a fully armed disorderly platoon.

One setback

folded like that grieving widow.

She had a reason

I still have an abode

I’m not a widow.

I’m down on my knees & up off them almost like it didn’t happen

Stood defiant still feeding an outdated superstition

of other motives

This is my prison.

Trust in people

Risk my heart

Yes, It didn’t go my way

This was a time to not fall apart.

A glimmer of hope I’ll grow strong

again

Make mirth and merriment

not misery & disappointment.

I have only one person to blame.

I disappoint myself over and over again

then Surprise myself by what achievements I continue to create.

How am I to play this next move?

escape to another alternative reality – never to bloom!

Or talk about my feelings -is anyone listening?

Cos they have, what is the problem, strewth?

facing all that ‘I feel fat’ STUFF

Makes me wanna holler hey you, cat, scat!

Look me in the mirror & be proud

of my deeds for seven consecutive weeks.

Nor ask my loves to keep turning another cheek.

I’m ashamed.

I am to blame.

I have to fight

My mother is alright. I mean my mother is right.

This half-hearted escape acts

attempts on my life.

attempts to self-harm

They come & they go.

If I can keep this train of thought

the cravings of self-hate might go

come back

less frequently…

Perhaps I will still hold on to some of my dignity

or become a statistic…

We all end up a statistic one way or another

What statistic do I want to come under?

Now there’s a question to ponder over.

Blanch Guts

I’m may not be anonymous

I’m predisposed to mostly white.

Paled by  charming powder puffs

under any paltry day or night.

I may not be anonymous

I may appear big, small heavy and then light.

one little line of chronic

then it’s down & up  1000s   hillside slopes to cut the gluttonous lust.

It grows in fervour

diminishes all care.

If time is money

then it’s wasted to card dealing chancers

who think it is fair in the twilight

 to fight this addiction to an eating disorder.

 sizes me up

rounds me in

 Heard in

cattle calls

Not time to feed but blanch Guts away to her final slaughter.

Why do I want to change my hues?

 Tie Dye?

Or maybe these words are a whitewash of denial or a statement covering up a fat lie.

 

#NYA GOAT Sa Roc

I’d be letting myself down if I didn’t post about my  Eating disorder or mental illness or if I didn’t write about my body image issues.

I shouldn’t be alive. I’ve been in & out of hospitals sectioned, medicated, threatened with E.C.T. therapy, my Dad didn’t want to care for me  & asked social services to get involved in my life. I had other family members who loved me more & didn’t think that is what families do to their children.

I am still alive (obviously). I wish that kids could learn about body image & emotional intelligence at school.

Body Image is the mental picture you have of your body. It includes attitudes and feelings about how you look & how you think other people see you.

Hosted by the Mental Health Foundation, Mental Health Awareness Week 2019 will take place from Monday 13 to Sunday 19 May 2019. The theme for 2019 is Body Image – how we think and feel about our bodies.

Body image issues can affect all of us at any age. During the week we will be publishing new research, considering some of the reasons why our body image can impact the way that we feel, campaigning for change and publishing practical tools.

https://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/campaigns/mental-health-awareness-week

My stepfather used to tell me I was fat & would eat sweets & cake in front of me. He was a bastard for many more reasons than that….

People with HEALTHY Body Image…
▪ Accept bodies come in different shapes and sizes.  ( I accept that as long as it doesn’t affect me)
▪ Know there are good things about their bodies. ( sure- legs……….)
▪ Are comfortable with their bodies.  (Most of the time I wish I could swap heads with someone for peace of mind)
▪ Are critical of the ‘ideal’ body seen in the media. (Yes

People with UNHEALTHY Body Image…
▪ May think a lot about how they see themselves or how they think others see them
▪ Maybe uncomfortable with their bodies. (I’m not shy just aware of it).

I found  Sa Roc when I was going through another post-suicide blues.

I’m also inspired by her courage to talk about her own self harm & body issues

I dealt with feeling inadequate or less worthy because I didn’t fit conventional standards of what was considered beautiful,” Sa-Roc explains to HipHopDX. “There was also a lot of unexpressed anger and pain that I didn’t feel comfortable or courageous enough to share with my loved ones, so I took it out on myself.

I  identified with her honesty & her strength, and her vulnerabilities.

Why?

Because she emcees about how much trauma she went through & thinks that as an artist she needs to empower women especially in the one-dimensional world we live on social media. She has her own style &  doesn’t conform to any style but her own. She has a message. She wants other women to feel free & she wants to break the discrimination of men in the industry dismissing talented & credible female emcees.

People forget that women have been instrumental in Hip Hop since its inception,” she says. “Most of us are really familiar with the early male Hip Hop icons and pioneers, but women have been present and just as instrumental since the beginning. One of those women, who my name actually pays homage to, is Sha-Rock.

SA ROC

Her album is a personal inspection of how her experiences and childhood shaped her personal views.

Sa Roc is in a league of her own because she wants other women to feel empowered and to be self-defined on their terms.

I look to the past a lot.

And worry about the future.

I lived in other homes though I had a home.

I was lost.

I was dying.

I survived.

I’ve looked to others for approval to my detriment.

I’ve turned away from people who put me down.

I’ve been fighting an eating disorder-Anorexia since I was 5 years old. It is a chronic illness & I have a Bipolar & Emotionally unstable Personality disorder too.

But I think I just had a very mixed up childhood & responded to trauma by turning on myself. I had a lot of love and a lot of craziness.

I love my family.

I’ve erased /dissociated from my memories of the past. I have huge gaping holes of cosmic proportions. I have blacked out so much.

I’ve been in many hospitals for suicide attempts mine or watched family close to me harm themselves others, Sectioned many times, I’ve been drugged by doctors, men, myself.

It doesn’t make me a victim. I know how hard I fight with my thoughts every second of the day.

I too live with my guilt

I have moments when I Think I’m worth it. 😉

I can’t seem to confirm. Even when I try……

I always get back up after getting knocked down.

Sa Roc is proud of her African heritage &  she embraces it.

I am not a black African, I am a white South Africa. Lived there for many years.

I was from the pre &  post-apartheid era.  I mixed with as many cultures as I came across. There are many.

I’ve seen a lot of gun crime – had one pointed to my head, seen my mates owing money to drug dealers with guns, I’ve met diamond smugglers & nearly ended up dead. I almost lost my life to living with Niagarians. Attending to the bar & getting addicted very quickly. I’ve had Mandrax dealers set a dog on me.  I’ve just seen a lot of guns. South Africa, yaar?

I have regrets ( I’m working to not dwell on them)

I dig the chorus cos it lends the tune a bit of soul.

I’ve starved myself physically, emotionally & spiritually

The chorus is like a mantra I  sing to trick myself into believing a lot.

I love stars (even if they are dying)

I’ve self-harmed in so many ways -self-harm, knives, drugs,  toxic people…

I was advised by my doctor & professionals to have an abortion in 2010. I regret my actions though I know I did the right thing.

I went on to have my daughter who will be 8 in October.

I’ve had many break downs and I’m still here.

I’ve fought many people & gained strong allies too.

I’m on a spiritual journey not religious.

My eating disorder consumes me.

I too don’t know what I would do if I could reverse time?

I have experienced a  life that many people wouldn’t believe if I told them.

I’ve had gold teeth 😀

I love the drumming bit in 3.18 min ( What a #goatbah)

She’s got gumption.

Listen more………. 😀

Read in between the lines

A few years ago (when I was in college) I tried to make money & raise awareness of my eating disorder by sharing my story with a scrupulous magazine. ( many years ago) & all my words, my moms were distorted.

I was naive. Don’t buy into any one’s media hype if it makes you feel shit about yourself.

The article ended up pitting me & my Mom against one another.

I don’t believe my Mom made me anorexiC Be careful of what the media is doing and how it wants to portray people. Sensationalised bullshit.

First of all, I have never called my Mom – ‘mum’.

If they can twist words then they can make us want to look like people who don’t even exist.

I hate being skinny but I love the security it gives me.

I hate being hungry & I hate feeling full.

Mum made me an Anorexic.     

Nobody talks like this and these are not my written words!

I’m glad I wrote these words.

Keep Livin

My body isn’t a shrine

Nor half as gory as the scene of a horrid crime.

It’s not that abortion clinic

beating hearts put on a foetus pant

in

mime.

It’s not pretty.

I don’t do chocolate box

Not in my city.

This image I have…

of a body in the stocks.

I may look thin. I’m a result of Eating disorders, body image issues & a wasted life on self-destruction.

Well… I’m not dead yet……..

(It’s painful to write about this cos I’m starving my body, mind & soul. I won’t give up!

So I’m going to eat some sushi & smoke a blunt.

20190516_141400698446744.jpg

I don’t know how much I weigh. I don’t care to or dare to out of fear that I will feed even more into my “issues”.

I don’t look or feel good.

This is me today. Thin & far from happy.

A few selfies to make me feel tons better . (sarcasm alert)

Every day is a chance to start again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Love your body And don’t strive to look like anyone else. Talk about your emotions. Don’t internalise. You don’t deserve to hurt yourself this way. It is suicide. You may want to die & get close to it. You are here today. Make it count.

I’m out of here.

No masterpiece to find here… just words. It’s how I survive.HP-PIC-green-ribbon (1)

EVEN THE ODDS

 I open my eyes and I am blitzed by an array of green, red, and yellow coloured fruit. I pose and I am poised, in front of that golden gilded hall mirror. The reflection is of me, in the original inpatient stay clinic, before this modern therapy treatment was possible. Before the pandemic rise of it. Like the eye of a hurricane, it mischievously lulled a large portion of members of our community into a state of security, then sucked us up with one sinister intake of breath.

 My reflection captures me in all my nakedness. My hair swathes over my scrawny shoulders and breasts. A pair of hands come up from behind me, pushes away my tresses and cups my breasts. A deep throb pulsates in-between my inner thighs. I cannot fight it. I submit.  My head tilts back; my mouth opens to reveal my tongue. It is like a red carpet, waiting for a celebrity to enter. It is him. His dreadlocks tinkle with multi coloured beads. His tongue commands to explore mine as if it is a well-versed master of sorcery. I tremble from the hot expulsion trickling down my inner thighs.M y eyes remould into wide crop circles.  I realise that it has tricked me again. I spit out the clustered black mob of grapes into the bowl of fruit. I only have a moist stain as a reminder of his existence.

‘The time is 06:35 a.m. The location: the bathroom. It feels more aggressive – not dormant as the manual states are what should be happening.’

                                    *********

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 12/04/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets taken. Weight: stable. This is attempt 8.’

 I close my eyes and open them. I see an ashen me spiralling further and further away as the powder compact mirror is whacked out from my hands. I can’t see my reflection, so I start furiously tapping on my collarbone, urging it to jut out that bit more. Gristle grinds against gristle. My knees knock together repeatedly: agonisingly tender from the friction. It takes more pain to make me feel. I can hold my head up that little bit higher.

 A surge of power brushes a justified half -smile up my cheek, as they wheel me out of the ambulance and into ‘the starch whites’ base. I peer into my old inpatient room with its rosy shaded walls. The ‘starch whites’ are preparing for that time again. The battle with them every meal time.  Their lips are moving but I can’t hear them.

My eyes veer to the sight of my legs- splayed wide on the bed. In between my legs, reveals the man’s body, which seemingly hustles in time to some primal, instinctive beat. His tongue flicks in and out of my moist swelling vulva. My inner thighs quiver. Combined sweat drips collecting evidence of our lust. The flicking escalates in speed. My chest rises and falls in breathy rhythm.

I open my eyes and he is gone! Another trick!   On demand it projectile vomits grotesque abstractions out of drink supplements and gourmet food; flung and hung pretentiously along the walls of that room. Cups, plates, knives are thrown about. It takes three of them to get that tube down me. Three!

                        ********

‘Record. This is ED500; it is 2 a.m., the 13/04/2025 Location: my bedroom. There is an almighty sound of bells clanking. I am trying to do the breathing exercises from the prescription manual app but my eyes won’t register the letters.’

 The contained puddle of letters on the screen splatter as my tablet falls to the floor. The memory is too potent. My back arched involuntarily, my eyes will not open fully. Seizing up, they flicker upwards into the half-moon gloom of my eyelids. DING- A LING! A bell rings. Saliva sloshes down the sides of my chin. My back is set against a cool wall; I look up and around and find myself in an unidentified location. The walls, the flooring- everything is a shade of white. ‘The starch whites’ hover around the location in an aura of purity. I fiddle with my zip jean and pull down my T-shirt as I try to cover a mound of excess flesh. I join the procession of the group gathered around the bell ringer.

The wait commences. A stomach grunts hoggishly. Mine. My eyes sweep across the group hoping no one has heard it. In total, there are fifty of my kind. We all have the same scraggy arms and legs and distended stomach. We do not queue politely, but circle around the bell ringer like a pack, collectively growling, from the pit of our stomach, slavering: ready to attack. It does not do political correctness. It does not like conformity. Nobody wants to look too eager. It is part of the game. Parlour Tricks.

One involuntary twitch in the ringer’s direction and the game is lost. The bell rings again. I look up, it is him. He winks at me. It rages from him seeing me ready to engage in combat in the ‘labyrinth of edibles’. It gains so much power in numbers.  Deafening whispers ripple around the group. Those that cover their mouths with their hands only heighten the grand faux pas of my behaviour. The smirking turns to vaporous laughter. I watch that retro version of myself, head bowed, arms folded, shoulders hunched, walk alone and into hostile territory- a vulnerable outsider for betraying it

‘The time is 3 am, location: my bedroom. Urgent memo! I should be having more control over my flashbacks not less. ED500 needs to make contact’

                                                            *******

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 13/05/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets consumed. Weight 0.2 grams more than 13/04/2025.’

 I close my eyes and when I open them, I am naked and in what appears to be a floor to ceiling mirrored dressing room. Reflecting back in every mirror is us! The man stands behind me- pulling me in every direction. Every angle stabs at my eyes, repeatedly. One stab- that’s me! Another stab –no, that’s me! What am I looking at? An arm. The shards of deceptive flesh wound my eyeballs. An almighty shriek surrenders from my lungs; I see a pair of hands reach up to cover my eyes. Is this real? I grab an arm and pinch it, hard. The skin feels dimpled, not in that artistic stippled kind of way but in that bumpier cellulite fashion.

‘The time is 06:15 am Location: bathroom. I feel out of control, I repeat I feel out of control. Urgent contact needs to be made.’

                                                *********************

Dr Owle presses the pause button.

‘You have stuck rigorously to the manual?’ – I see that flashback projected onto a wall- paused and very much in control.

‘Well, of course.’ I blather, ‘That’s why I signed myself up for this whole spectacle. You told me that I would be able to control the memory and the sensory triggers. I can’t just flick the pause button on like you’ve just done’

‘The results when adhered to correctly have shown a 100 % success rate. Today is the final attempt. Are you still willing to engage voluntarily? ‘He looks in my direction. I nod sagely.

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time is 09:00 a.m., the date is the 13/06/2025, location: Professor Owle’s office, two feedamile tablets consumed at 6:00 am this morning. My weight is 0.3 grams heavier than 13/05/2025.’

 Final attempt. I close my eyes and open them.  Astonished, I see a pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side, giving it a certain elegance. There is a fleeting recognition of this body. A fragmented puzzle of reflections pulls together as natural as gravity. The magnetic pull, reassures, in the way that waking up before landing in a fall-dream- reassures. In the mirror reflection, I see him. A bolt of nerves implode in my brain, splintered nerves carve furiously.

A voice.

‘What do you see?’ It’s the Owls-no, the professor’s voice: the professor is an owl?  My mind steeps in ambiguity.

Then an almighty pressure forces my head to drop back from the weight of it. My hands instinctively go to touch the intruding protrusion. I catch sight of my reflection in the orange oblong mirror. My head is malformed. I look like some freak, like some helpless victim with radiation side effects from some way out, an imaginary town in Chernobyl. Grievous puss amalgamated to create a massive abscess.

‘I’m disfigured’, I scream. I feel his presence in the room as he moves closer to my puss-filled growth. Stretched, overcooked, fibrous skin. Heated puss bubbles away inside. He holds my head up.

 ‘It’s the man. I don’t know what he is going to do. He has something in his hand.  He is going to kill me.’

Tortured screams echo around the space.  Another voice penetrates through the pain.  

‘Have you seen him before? Look properly. ’ it is Professor Owle.

‘No, I can’t bear to look . I’m repulsive!’

‘Don’t give up. Open your eyes and look in the mirror, tell me what you see.’

‘Something has gone wrong. I’ve consumed too much. The experiment has failed.’ I weep.

‘This is professor Owle. Tell me what you see!’ he orders.

‘Tell him my name’ the man urges, his dreadlocks shake off a familiar laugh.

He wants me to name him.’ I howl in pain, ‘He’s jabbed a needle into me!  He has jabbed a needle in my head. He is extracting the puss. It wants more power. I will not name it. Never!  The truth is what I‘ve believed from the start. You give it a name and it automatically assumes power’, I scream.

‘Look at me. Please!’ the dreadlocked man implores.

SLAM!  A car skids unlawfully across the black ice.

‘Who are you, what do you want?’ a tone of hysteria.

BANG! Car tyres leave vicious tracks marks on a deer.

‘Are there any letters forming in your mind? The professor inquires.

CRASH! A body smashes through the windscreen.

‘Yes, but I’m too afraid to let them form. Abort the experiment please, Professor.’

 The body lands with a nondescript THUMP. Blood marinades the icy snow.

‘You need to fight it.’, Professor Owle cajoles me.

My eyes burst open like a ruptured pea pod. I look into the mirror and this is what I see. It is me –a hysterical woman with savage hair, screaming in despair I take both my hands and scrape my fingernails down both sides of my face. My grey slate- coloured eyes, dilated, search with hope. The man’s hand goes to brush away the tears trickling done my face. My hand goes up frantically trying to scratch away at the face etched with wretched wrinkles.

‘It is an older me. The growth has gone.’ Fearfully I take in the rest of my body. Again, I see reflected the same pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side- Holy shit, how can this be? This reflection is the missing piece to a surprising feeling of unity. I look over to him– he smiles. I look into his eyes- all I can see is admiration. 

‘It’s me! Not perfect-far from it. But it is me!’ The man leans in to kiss my neck then his reflection turns around and leaves the room.

‘Very good, now carry on –what is the man saying? Interjects the Professor.

‘Professor, he has gone. ’, I turn away and around from the mirror to make sure that the mirror has not deceived me.

‘Gone?’

 Gone. It’s me. Professor Owle. It’s me! It is Vesna. My name is Vesna Numeral’ I babble out.

‘Vesna? If this is Vesna tell me who the man is? Professor Owle enquires dubiously.

A wave knocks my emotions. I buckle. The reeds of guilt tangle around my legs pulling me down to my knees

‘Oh my God! No, it’s Raymond.’ I cry.

‘Bravo Vesna. Well done. You did it- you engaged until the very end. We can finally start the de-briefing process.’ The professor hugs me.

‘I’m recovered? ’ my tone incredulous. ‘All he tried to do was help me recover from it.

Yes, Vesna. It was an accident…’

‘I couldn’t control.’ I conclude.

‘We now work together to start the process to rehabilitate you back into society.’

‘My family. My friends.’ A medley of images calibrate in my mind. ‘I will never go backwards, never! I have to keep ticking forwards’

‘Life will have a purpose again,’ the professor smiles

 One year later and numbers still hold this world together. I can never completely get away from numbers. It might not possess me but it still haunts me every so often by catching me off- guard. These days a brief encounter with my reflection consistently reveals my broken half capped teeth and withered bones. These are the scars of my struggle. I remember the lesson Raymond tried to teach me. These days I tend to look into people’s eyes when I speak and I tend to listen more. It is so easy to get caught up in that negative internal chatter everyone has in them. These days in spite of my scars, I smile and look for that small break in the sky. My name is Vesna; and like a cloud that merges and transforms all too rapidly, I too refuse to be defined by it.

These few words are my words

Write to recover

or die living the life of another

I disappoint your heart everyday.

I rape it copiously

Hope you  won’t wake up.

Its better to get fucked over if you are asleep or slightly disorderly .

I don’t know why I am this way

muster the audacity to pretend life is Gaye

I wonder why I’m still alive,

and the I look into the eyes do my cherub sent from the royal family of storks

She and my tabby are my family.

my heart beats-disorderly but it tangos  to their bars to be free.

 

DAISY UPDATE:

I’m trying to live with a bit of weight I have gained. I hate this medication – deposit injections in the ass are primitive. 

Still divorced -still fighting to have my voice heard and to live creatively 

Why are you watching this?

The ugly truth about why i haven’t been able to write.

Things became too much for me. All of it and  life, I took a huge overdose and I ended up waking upon a hospital.I became hopeless.

I feel so estranged from life. I am closer to my daughter more than I ever thought possible. Here is me looking glamorous and 1 step away from a hospital bed.

self medicating turned me into going into drug/ medication induced psychosis.

Writing is getting easier. I know that I will not quit my final year of my masters. I am rebuilding our lives and I’m relieved that I threw my ex husband/partner out the house. I don’t care how hard things get- once I lose respect for a person or they don’t walk the talk -my patience runs thin.

I’m focusing on getting back to blogging, my Masters. Writing and getting these feature music artist posts in publish mode.

My daughter was with my Ma when I took the overdose and so in honor of Paul  all those who suffer in silence or are misunderstood to remember that we are all awesome. Some more than others…….

only joking.

There are more videos i took. I think I thought if something good can come out of watching blood pour out my nose and looking and acting not like my usual self.

I’m still adjusting to the fact i’m alive. I’m happy to be with my daughter. Yes, call me what you want.

I’m merely human – no unicorns to be found here.  I’m just doing what I need to to get by.

These are my words 😉

 

 

 

 

 

Kalinda

When my Kalinda sees her reflection  she flinches over jagged, ragged parts of a body

discombobulated

Staggered &  separate. -body parts sewn together haphazardly.

The truth is stranger than fiction.

How can it be?

His soul mate doesn’t mirror the effort in his deeds.

fingernails claw

pierce fleshy skin -protruding  hanging  agape

flesh separates from the bo.ne

My Kalinda

she is more than a  blow-up doll  wearing a t-shirt that says ‘corruption feeds on  poison  egos.’

The Skullbones cross over .

Point at marks left from a  flirtation with suicide.

 

Maidenhead Hymen annuls her delusional animas.

Make her believe she breathes!

i

What is wrong with all that is her?

doesn’t my Klaineda get that life weith me can be whatever she will her self to dream .

Yes, a bargain plea?

instead of radiating from true love’s scribbled scribes in blank verse.

The stonewalled chamber gathers ipapalbe silence  born from these disjointed words

Talk. You have time to make my life right.

Perform this pantomime on Las Ramblas knowing the days will turn bright.

Perhaps I cup over & caress her excess mounds.

Compliments ‘damn you look good, healthier, you’ve  put some weight on’

Must she hear this now? Does it matter?

It’s too avant-garde even for Gaudi

Face swollen from a sting with an arbitrary drone.

Monthly luna flickers up sheds of decrepit blood

clots

compound that to a portrait that makes her face plump–fits of

disease

– please,

Hands hesitate over arms once scrawny, cheek bones sliced inwards.,

She’s rather own her shame and reach every gaze at her in a state of lean chronic thigh gap syndrome

spongy Food floats

expands

-drowns all sign of hope.

enough self loathing to remedy it with a calibre of a gun.

Date with Russian roulette –

6 chance distractions from this body, this mind , every part called forward into existence.

five rounds until she lands in the seat of a crash test dummy.

Grief , guilt ,

unpleasant to the taste.

fret bursts in beads of sweat – her few will revolt into petulant demonstrations of

why?

again?

how?

and when?

Get by on hope and luck and a fine mother hen

A good sized egg , pair of irises that delude her into feeling all her sins have been revoked.

Passed Humanities degree

Life update

I’ve finally received my results for my 1st year, doing my Masters, in Creative writing.

Drum rolls.

PASS-with merit. I officially can use more random letters after my name — ha ha!

I  am now in possession of a post-graduate certificate in the Arts and Humanities!

 

Wow! Amazing.

How’s this going to help me with what I won’t do?

I have a dream.

I do. 😀

One of my goals is to move back to France. They love people with diplomas. I hope to get a well paid job there. I need to book a trip to The French embassy later on this year. My husband has decided he is going to take on my surname and become a French national.  He’s English!

He’s not only English, he is  Northern, from  West Yorkshire.

d9ef31b42a30d50a71e1a3f446a1dfb5-yorkshire-humour

 

I need to register my Bella Bee as a French national because even though she is more English than I am. Born here.  English Dad and roots. The British government  will not give her a British  passport because I was ordered by her majesty’s court to  register her Fathers name on her birth certificate and now they won’t give her one!

Beauracratic nightmare.

I feel so uneasy about my family not having a passport. My entire life, It was drummed into me to always have my passport (in date)in case, we moved countries.

Which we did- a lot!

Moving on . ( pun unintentionally intended  :D)

What’s  happening in my life?

Loads of shit- ha ha! as usual.

I’m doing better –  I keep making a come back.  Oh, life – you little tease!

Dare me to live.

 Dare me to succeed!

Challenge accepted.

quote-you-can-t-shake-hands-with-a-closed-fist-mahatma-gandhi-83-29-01

 

Daisy’s mental health 

Yeah, it’s been.

up and down,

down ,

down ,

down –

up again ,

very up –

insanely manic,

toxic,

low,

not quite sure

,emotional ,

aargh why did that and that and that and ..

did I do that?

Those kind of moments, really.

 

Surely someone can relate?

Not happy about a medication increase in my anti depressant.

I don’t of any person who is on  (high/ highest legal doses) of

Two antidepressants

Two anti psychotics

Two anti anxiety tablets,

and sleeping medication.

I know  my health posse want the best for me.

I don’t bullshit them.

I tell if I’ve been using shit coping mechanisms, good ones. Thoughts ,feelings…

I made my psychiatrist laugh.

Go me!

giphy8
HE LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE THIS 😉

He offered me psychology therapy — again .

I was like:

‘Look Dr J, seriously every time I sign up to a pyschologist , they leave!’

 All my psychologists have left me half way through  doing whatever new pycho babble, current trend treatment , is used, to deal with folk such as myself.

One dude, fell asleep in a couple of our sessions.

So, I was like

‘ Listen, I know how to use CBT/DBT, I know how to communicate and talk. I know what keeps me well . I just want a cure’

Another laugh escapes from Dr J.

He is a legend.

A legend ? yes, but not a wizard 😦

He totally gets me and I feel I have a choice in medication changes etc..

I’ve asked to come off one of my meds because I don’t see the point of being on it. It hasn’t helped me.

These meds have affected my memory. I’m terrified of getting Dementia. I’ve been on (legal) tablets since I was 13/14 and I’ve never been off medication.

Never!

Talking about memory.

 

I’m using my creative outlets to start getting into the open mic poetry scene .

I love performing but my memory is really rubbish. I’m going to brave it by doing more live poetry next week. I’m excited. Nervous.  It’s all good.

I have my final year of my MA to keep me — super  occupied.  There is a lot of work to do. For part of my thesis ( check me out)

I’m thinking of using my blog to interview creative folk who live in my community to talk about, their work,  (durr!)  Creativity and their mental health. My photographer mate is on board to take pictures. Some people have shown interest — yeah!

My heads occupied which is good.

Fab!

Awesome!

How will doing this  help me with my thesis and final work?

Well, I am going to use this year of discovery and research on the link between mental health and creativity as an alternative form of therapy to cope with life’s unpredictable moments.

Then I  will have loads of inspiration to write a film script (120 minutes) on a character ,who , is thrown back into society after a long stint in mental /prison  institutions , and who is looking to find him/herself  and another way of being  and expressing him/herself  positively, in society.

The opening scene will kind of look like this

I have an ending – (a bit abstract at the moment) – saying there words:

‘I look around for the first time with clarity. And see I’m exactly where I need to be. Around the misfits. The beautiful misfits just like me.’

DAISY’S UN NAMED CHARACTER 

It’s all early days and I still have  4 scripts to write, a critique and a character  analysis on a famous playwright to do before the final chapter.

All in all. I’m alive, optimistic-ish, full of emotion, drive, passion , a pain in the ass but just doing my thing. 

All terribly boring really… 😀 

So, I am back!

I can’t commit daily to blogging but I have joined a group on Facebook.  

Shout out to Gary @ fiction is food  for adding me.

It’s a website for us!

BIG UP YOUR BLOG!

Bloggers.

 I’m  a newbie, its good be around other bloggers again. I’m hoping it will keep me  off Facebook and keep me connecting with people like yourself. People who use their time more productively. Doh, oh the irony.

One rant before I go :   I wish people would stop leaving public posts about my appearance on my Facebook.

If you ever happen to read this

I know you are having a shit time dealing with your own weight issues. I’m well aware of mine. Please take a look at yourself. Look after yourself first. If you don’t – FUCK OFF! 

 

That is a wrap.  I know. Hilarious! ha ha!

Thank you so much for reading

Time to step out and live real life..

Catch up soon!

giphy9

What’s everyone else doing with life?  Blogging?

I’m genuinely curious to know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why did I eat That? 😀🤔

Why did I eat that ? 

Any cat will know I’m gonna scream bloody hell I’m so fat.

If only I meant it like I’m cool dealing with  a belly

extended like a starved, fledgling Biafran

Doesn’t mean I’m happy when the scales groan  

-too much mass. 

 

Why did I eat that? 

inhaled beans, and camembert cheese , tuna and pees

Hard core, non divergent, box ticking  Anorexic.

 I can’t throw up. I can’t use laxatives.

I sit with my new found rolls.

Puppy dog

not cute .

Eating disorder   you smutty little tease.

Why did I eat that?

Mushrooms to grow?

 Or shrink my stomach to  give off a sexy new  glow ?

Only so much fungi  I  can  mitigate when I’ve had an oral mastication blow.

This is not a pleasurable job.

Hands cover my eyes. No mirrors must  ever let me know.

 

Why did  I eat that ?

A memoir to torment my self – 30 tablets a day – neck it down

Sit on the psychiatrist  couch.

How about we  lose the meds, you give me the cure

I can show off a palatable pageant, non dentistry crown.

Why did I eat that?

I need energy, Cant go places without any juice

This ole devil gives me every sodamastic excuse.

The answer?

I’m feeling not quite right in the head.

I’m determined to  live out the next 30 years living free of   Bio-Pyscho-Social, self punishment  misuse.