Chapter 2 – Support

A very attractive gentleman messaged me today and told me that he “hoped I had the support I required” and all I could think of was the following poem, which encapsulates my thoughts on the support provided by the NHS mental health services.

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When all your help is nothing thus

When your help is only punishment

And nothing based on trust

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When you can’t do the simplest thing

If you will not get me my laptop

Maybe some nice long string?

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When you’re just watching your own back

While mine is all red, raw and bleeding

And my heart set to crack

Don’t tell me you don’t see them

The hopeless, disenchanted mass

The ones that now no longer struggle

Just lie upon the grass

Don’t tell me you can’t see it

The constant pain behind their eyes

Which sparkles with a gleam like raindrops

When someone stops, says “Hi”.

So do not make me say it

For you will not accept my words

Just let me lick my wounds in peace

And make it through at least

So………..

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When all your help is nothing thus

When your help is only punishment

No place to lay my trust.

 I may have slightly over reacted and sent him a stream of text messages on the topic of why I was not insane, for what is sanity anyway?  What is sanity anyway?…..

Of course I know that I’m insane

It ever was the way

But never did I mean to find

So much anger, nor such pain

But love hurts

Plane flies

Lullabies

Your love destroyed my soul

And now I need my medicine

Because in the world of untold lies

Truth hurts

Judgement dies

Deranged and random

Messed up thoughts

Three a.m. waffling

Trying, trying – oh the loss.

It is 1:15am on d-day, I have work tomorrow, I have to be up early.  I went to bed at 7pm tonight and awoke and 23:11 convinced it was Tuesday morning and rather disappointed to find out that I had a whole night to kill before it was, in fact morning.  I nipped to the corner shop to buy myself a glass of wine, one of the last for a while, I’m doing dry November and am not sure that after a month of sobriety, I will want to return to alcohol.

The job would have been a good one, it was everything I wanted and had wanted for years, a simple request of a job that wouldn’t have been that high stress and I would have been good at.  A job which would have taken me to the coast one week in four, a job that I hoped would reignite my career.  A job, I did not get and now the question of whether or not I have to raise an HR complaint raises its ugly head.  For I was told directly not to mention my mental health, but this left me at a disadvantage for my greatest achievements of the last few years have all centred around my mental health.  That I am still her at all is in itself a miracle.

Oh why am I still here Lord?

I died so long ago

Why make me walk this world now?

Trapped in death’s sorrow

The endless onward grind Lord

When I’ve already peaked

The time that you took my soul

Then put me back on feet

I walk this world in silence

A pain I can’t repress

Wishing that death would take me

Let my fake smile rest.