A few of my poems are hard to digest for sensitive readers, I know.
But, there are times when I write loads of the negative poems to post on here when I am having a huge bout of depression – sometimes on bad days, I can write quite a lot and post them at advanced scheduling.
Sometimes I can write up to twenty of these poems in one day – so sometimes I need to post them spaced out over a time.
About a week ago I had a huge bout of depression which meant that for eighteen whole days I would appear to be getting bleaker and bleaker, because I was really feeling very dark back then.
So I am trying to write poems which aren’t always depressing on good days to try and break up the bad.
Because I am not always miserable or feeling sorry for myself and that could be hard to believe for some of you.
I know it sounds utterly ridiculous, but, I feel ashamed of myself when I have happy days – because I feel that when I am happy, other people are sad and it’s like I feel guilty about it. Over the years when I have had a happy moment, its like the people I’ve spent time with has tried to make me feel guilty about it by making sarcastic comments such as…
“Oh, I am glad someone is happy at least, my foot is killing me” blab la bla.
I remember the time when I went for an ESA medical, on my forms it said I had depression – I had a particularly good day that day and I cracked a joke and smiled, the assessor outwardly accused me of lying about my depression and suicidal thoughts because as someone who is depressed and suicidal, we don’t do things like smile and crack jokes apparently.
This marked me down and we lost some of our monthly allowances over it, which in turn, made my depression worse again.
Never mind the fact that I had scratched up my legs and a bald patch because the stress about the humiliation I was going to receive at this medical made me self-harm to a serious degree for three whole weeks before it as I was scared stiff of it! This was during my worst in 2015.
I’ve stopped the self-harming and hair pulling for a while now. Which is why I am pissed off that Long Covid caused me to have alopecia, I had finally got my hair nice and even and stopped a nasty habit, only for alopecia to come into my life for a few weeks around Easter 2022.
Whenever I am super scared about something I tend to self-harm, or at least used to. I used to be a big coward, still am in a lot of ways, but I appear to be getting more courageous as I am getting older. Terrible coward as a child though.
I remember being hit when I was 9yrs old by a 5yr old child in the street and ran home screaming like I’d broken a leg or something – got much tougher when I was 14yrs old though, as there was a lot of violence in my life between those years. I never used to hit back until I was 11yrs old for example, I used to just run away and cry and hide in toilets or cupboards etc.
Quite an embarrassment upon reflection!
These days I am quick to react if people hit me, it shocks people because people presume as I am so nice and I don’t seem to be like other traumatised people that I’ve had a cushy life or something – so they think they can slap me across the face and I will stand there stunned or something. Not me – I go into a scrum like action and make sure they hurt worse than I do!
Which is why some of my college friends couldn’t believe I became a victim of domestic violence when I left college as they knew I was formidable – but my ex did a huge number on my confidence, ego, pride and vanity and I was knocked off my pedestal – he worked as a team to do that with my mum and aunt on board.
In fact the day he dumped me was because I had enough and I slapped him in front of his Godmother because he hit me in front of her – she immediately called him into a private meeting between him, her and her daughter in the bedroom whilst I made dinner – to find later on that night he drove me to the middle of the countryside and dumped me there to walk to the nearest train station myself luggage in tow at around midnight!
Twenty five minutes’ walk in an isolated country lane full of fields to get to the train station, where no trains would be departing until 6am the following morning, so spent the night on a cold metal seat on the platform in the middle of a cold May night, three days shy of my wedding, which was cancelled.
The saddest part isn’t what happened and how he couldn’t be bothered to take me all the way to the train station – the saddest bit was he gave me a 3ft giant purple rabbit soft toy as a breaking up present and I had to sit sobbing in the train station with this giant thing and carry it on the train in the morning and all through London until I got to my parents’ house again.
I remember a lovely young man who came over to me and sat with me to talk when I was finally on the train, talking to me because I was crying on the train with this big beastie toy – he thought I was a mother who lost a child and he told me I should throw the toy in the nearest bin rather than take it with me when he found out my story – but I clutched it tight to me and kept it.
However, it wasn’t a proper break up, he kept calling me back to him for a while afterwards and I was always in limbo where I stood with him.
I think Henry acquired the big purple rabbit eventually; I never got rid of it. I am a softy for soft toys; I have a bunch of them, to this day.
Henry took a few, but I am possessive with others.
Yes, I am forty years old and I still have around twenty soft toys from my childhood with me, and a few newer ones I’ve collected over the years. Big kid, I know!
I have a thing for hand puppets, I have a few of those, but they are in Paul’s room in a big box and I can’t get to them right now. I have Wiley Coyote, Tweetie Pie and a bunch of different animals.
I can sort of do ventriloquism and I like playing puppets with babies and toddlers.
I have digressed hugely.
I want to say that, when I post depressive poems, I may not actually be depressed at the time it was posted.
In fact today I feel pretty chipper, in fact, I’ve been feeling chipper since Friday. Lonely, but more relaxed and happy about things, I think things are coming together a little bit.
Things are not so mysterious anymore and things are being explained to me in droplets a bit.
The more I know, the happier I seem to get.
But yes, I am getting happier – curious – confused – but happier nonetheless.
I’m also frustrated because I am eager to exercise as I have a bigger goal to reach for now – but I have a sprained wrist and ankle which is annoying and painful.
My ankle comes and goes since I injured it around 4yrs ago tripping over laundry that got twisted around it, I fell and the ankle kind of snapped to the side a bit but didn’t break, sometimes I am absolutely fine, but other times I would walk and it’s like a hammer hit me to the side of the foot and I start limping at random. It literally comes and goes and it’s so blooming weird! Paul believes it a tendon problem.
The foot was x-rayed and it appeared to be fine.
But whatever – I am trying to make my poems more upbeat. But weirdly enough, since a couple of them have been happy this week I’ve noticed my blog follower numbers have dropped dramatically – I guess nobody likes the idea I am getting happy huh?
I’ve lost around forty followers in three days.
Thank for reading…