WHERE I PUT MY ANGER (A BAD DAY)

Getting up I feel uneasy,
Off to work just keep going.

Through the morning rude white knuckles
Nearly lunchtime just keep working.

No tolerance for empty chatter.
Is it anger? Just keep moving.

Jealous me or boastful colleagues?
Doesn’t matter just keep breathing.

Sharpened edges hurt my vision,
Angry filter just keep filming.

Nearly done, lost aspirations.
Mediocre, just keep working.

Hours over, head for home,
Re-run failures just keep running.

Rapid cycles, anger, numbness.
Guilty! Useless! Just keep peddling.

STOP!

No more movement, turn it inwards,
Unspent forces wrapped in fuse wire.

Head exploding close the hatches
Black collapsing, world compressing.

All that matter, down to pin size,
Tiny dot holds all my feelings.

Gone… ?

This is for Writing 201:Poetry
Ballade
Epistrophe

THE ANIMAL KNOWS BEST

The human ignores the stiffening of the back under threat,
Tightening of the chest at unkindness
The urge to run at the distant rumble
The animal raises its hackles, growls and crawls to its den staying safe
The human hears only judgement
Believes the world is perfect and itself damaged
The animal knows the world is dangerous
The animal knows best

This is for Writing201:Poetry

Trust ?

Bleary from moonshine meds made in the still of my brain
The spirit isn’t proof enough for the silence of now
Filtering out insufficient sharp reality
Dangerous waters of connection are left unswum
I stay in the dark chamber
Padded from the fading film of cine reel, real life.

 

This is for Writing201:Poetry, prompt was Trust

Years of the Invisible

This is from guest blogger iridescent spirits, and her blog is Iridescent Spirits. I am honoured that she took that time to share this here.

‘Ah, okay, just stop whining already!’

‘It’s just your imagination!’

‘You are thinking too much!’

That’s what they all said ever since I was little. Maybe I do think too much but not in the way they meant. I had problems no one around me realised or understood as they never went through the things I did. I knew I had problems, but when every people says the same you start to think maybe they are right, even if you may know really deep inside that they have absolutely no idea. I hid my pain because I didn’t want anyone to tell me I’m whining anymore. It hurt too much. I hid it and hid it so deep in myself that after a while even I thought that there’s no problem anymore. I was sure there was no problem at all. I was happy, on the surface. I thought I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. I was glad because I thought I became stronger. And they told me I got stronger, they even praised me for not whining anymore. Even when my father died, despite the painful feeling in my chest and throat, I couldn’t shed a single tear up until the funeral.  No matter how hard I tried nothing made me cry, but the pain in the chest was still there. At one point, I even felt some kind of pride, thinking that ‘Oh! A year ago or two, how broken I would have been by something like this, but now I’m so strong! I am an adult finally!’ I wasn’t whining anymore. Nor was I smiling, talking or doing anything passionately. And for a very long time I didn’t notice that this was a real problem. Panic attacks became my regular visitors day and night. Yet, I really thought I was strong. But you know what they say, those are the strong who can face their weaknesses and brave enough to show their feelings, brave enough to cry when they need to. Despite the pain, I continued my life as if nothing had happened. I never talked about my panic attacks anymore as I knew ‘whining’ would come back right away. Instead of strong, as I believed, I became invisible, even to myself. I became one of those ignorants towards my inner self. Not only the pain went so hidden that I couldn’t find the reason of it but with that my real self. But only until another almost-tragedy. Panic attacks became my only friends, the most frightening and invisible friends, yet they were real, more than those who were made of flesh and bone. They were standing steadily by my side not willing to let me go. They knew more about me than anyone else, than me. Unlike real people, friends, doctors and so on. Everyone said I was fine, it’s just imagination or everyday stress. I’m just way too sensitive. True. But is that a bad thing? I don’t think so. Is that a weakness? No, it’s not. Can it be the reason of the pain? Yes, but not solely. People realised the problem and took my words for granted only after proper diagnosis. I felt I was still invisible, and it was still hard to talk about my illness. I often said, I allegedly have panic disorder, yet it was proven. Still, that’s it and I have to face it. It is still hard talking about it as I was misled for years that talking or thinking about it is a mere waste of time and only increases pain. But you know what? I realised as a result of this is really cruel lesson that hiding it won’t solve the problem, it only increases it. I have to fight and I intend to win, not willing to hide it anymore especially for the sake of pleasing others.

When I’m depressed I can’t imagine the good times

Try and remember the good times

How many professionals have said something like that to me ?

The thing is – the very nature of the bad times is that the good times are a fading photo of past times inaccessible. When I’m feeling very low it is because the notion of a good time seems laughable.

A definition of a bad time – when I can’t imagine being good again.

If I could then the dark mood would not be so dark, if I still had one foot in the world of happiness then that would be enough to keep me sane. But when both feet (to stretch the metaphor) are well and truly in the world of hopelessness then don’t ask me to imagine myself into another dimension.

So when someone asks me to remember the good times – I think they’ve never really experienced the darkness.

Asking for help

I met up with a friend this morning and we discussed how to access various forms of support. There are some counselling services made available by employers and provide a 24/7 helpline. My friend phoned one and they didn’t even pick up. When chased up on it they promised to phone back but didn’t. So, my friend went to see her doctor, who wasn’t blessed with the best listening skills. She was let down by support services.. badly.

The problem is that when people need help, by the very nature of needing help are not in a position to look after themselves. When I know what exactly is wrong, what is the cause of the problem and what I need……AND can say all that out loud to a stranger – well by then I’m starting to recover. Why is that so hard to answer such simple questions.

What is wrong
Knowing and naming my demons, is so hard. Much of the time I think it is ‘low level’ depression. But is there such a thing ? It bubbles away at the back of my mind but can turn in a flash to really high level darkness. I think that when it feels low level, actually I’m just not owning it. Then I suddenly completely see it for what it is, full blown terror/ anger/ self-destruct button pulsating red. Most of my most dangerous times (life threatening) have been when I don’t own the darkness, then can’t quite understand how I found myself on the brink of self harm / suicide. So when I’m asked what is wrong, when I’m in a denial place, the dangerous place, I can’t yet see it and give a useful answer.

What is the cause of the problem
In my head when in a crisis the cause of the problem might seem very clear, but with the passage of time it can look very different. I tend to mumble apologetic causes and feel they aren’t good enough to justify feeling the way I do.

What do you need
Would a doctor expect a patient to know what the exact surgery/ antibiotic / therapy was the best for themselves….. so how can I be expected to know when I’m in crisis ?

Conclusion – when I call for help – I need to be helped to ask for help.

A black storm

Where do I put it inwards or outwards.

Inwards and I self harm, get lost in circular thought, obsess.

Outwards is so terrifying. I can’t possibly let all that loose on the outside world, it might do damage, hurt someone, get me into trouble.

Better to keep it in. Store it. Let it fester until I burst and destroy……. something.

Funny how it comes out of a blue sky. I feel like I’m a small boat on a calm sea, not a cloud in the sky, so where did that storm come from, I can’t feel the rain or wind and yet I’m drowning suddenly, unexpectedly.

Even before the drowning started I don’t feel safe, know that something is not right, I should put on a life jacket, call for help.
Don’t be ridiculous everything is fine. You’re making a fuss.
I gasp for breath while the current pulls me under and think,
‘How could I not see it coming. I knew deep down. That unease.’

And I shut the door on the blind world and see myself. ANGRY.
So angry that I need to do something to dispel the ball of unbearable fury before it turns into the blackness that stays and eats into my every waking moment and makes me want to kill myself.

 

When pain makes me feel better

So when I’m in physical pain I tend to feel psychologically better. I’ve never really clarified this in my head until I read Joy Curtis’ post on the subject. It made so much sense.

I need to point out that the source of physical pain I’m talking about here is not chronic or the result of a terminal or life threatening illness.

I can be on the lowest of lows I mean really low, dangerously low – ward admittance low. A strange part of my lows is that I look fine – it is now in my medical notes that I’m high functioning but can be a danger to myself and don’t present in a way that psychiatric staff expect (see my other blog for anecdote about that). I’ve had support teams in my living room saying ‘well you look fine’.
Yes don’t I.

Then pain  –  illness. I take to my bed. I feel awful…… and start to realise that I have found some real compassion for myself, because my pain is ‘real’. In this moment I know I’m not well, I’m in pain, I need to look after myself.

When it was psychological I believed none of that and now when I own my physical pain I start to own the psychological too. And I feel better.
A lot better.
Tons better.
I mean I start actually feeling happy.
Very happy.

A comment from TV series: House – half remembered, but you get the gist.

Cessation of extreme pain can cause euphoria

Is that what is happening ? Maybe. Can phenomena from physiological pain be applied to psychological ?

Dunno but it’s kind of interesting.
Thanks Joy 

A not so good variant of that experience is self harm.
I have been there. There is definitely an element of this going on with my self harm. Owning and seeing my own pain, but it is so mixed in with guilt / shame and knowing that the very nature of the activity is not looking after myself.

I’ve no cures for psychological pain here – I do not advocate self harm – I do not advocate being in pain.
But I feel a bit clearer on a few things.

Good cause to feel depressed?

I’m a bit reluctant to tell the story of how I became depressed and suicidal.

Other people with the same life experiences may not find it cause to be depressed.
I’m not sure if there is some kind of validity scale in my head:-

  • Above 6.5 on this scale you have – Good cause to feel depressed
  • Below 6.5 – Just man up.

OK OK I know this is not the way it should work – and it says more about me not honouring my own feelings.

I will put my story here.. soon.