Tag: mental health

to be caught

“I’m coming home”
Tears draining bloodshot eyes

Plane tickets
And a pandemic

Picked up from the airport
And sleeping in the back seat

Long hugs
And “I’m glad you’re back”

Dad’s coffee
And your teenage bedroom

The North Sea
And 4pm sunsets

Clean breaks
With soft landings

Oh how sweet it is
To be caught.

contradictions

I have OCD. I do not wash my hands religiously after using the bathroom. But I do live with a constant feeling of impending doom, like a black cloud is following me wherever I go.

I have OCD. I don’t keep my flat especially tidy, and I’ve never cared for dusting. But I do frequently and vividly picture my family’s deaths to the point of tears.

I have OCD. I don’t turn the lights on again and off again. But I do count almost every action I take, and make sure it’s in 3s, 4s or 7s.

I have OCD. I can drink out of glasses at any restaurant without a second thought. But I question my sexuality almost constantly, to check I haven’t been lying to myself and everyone I love.

I have OCD.

And I do over-use alcohol hand gel. And I do line my shoes up in a funny way else something terrible will happen. And I avoid new car journeys for fear of causing a crash and hurting or killing the people I love. And I do actually knock on wood. And I salute to every magpie I see. And I do neutralize “bad” thoughts or words with “good” ones.

The “ands” and “buts” can also be true at the same time.

We are walking contradictions.
We are stereotypical and we are opposites.
We both are and are not.
And all those experiences are valid.
But it’s okay.

have you lost weight?

“Wow, have you lost weight?”

Not –
“Tell me about your family, are they well?”
“What about a childhood dream you had, did it ever come true?”
“What has brought you joy recently, and how can you look for that joy in unexpected places?”
“Are you a beach or a mountain person?”
“What scares you more – space or the deep sea?”
“In what ways do you think you’ve grown up, and it what ways haven’t you?”
“Do you believe in ‘the one’?”
“How are you, really?”
“What book has made you cry recently?”
“What is your best piece of life advice you’ve ever received?”
“Do you ever feel moved by art?”
“When was the last time you paddled in the sea?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Are tarot cards a load of nonsense?”
“What’s one thing you’re scared to do, but you know would be good for you?”

Anything but that.

Little Miss

Why is it always Mister Men and Little Miss?
Why little?

You
misled me, made me little miss
misery. I was
misguided and
mistook my
misfortune for good luck.

I was
miserable, under your tyranny of poorly disguised
misogyny.

I
misread the signs, and had the
misfortune to
misunderstand your indifference for love countless times.

And yet, your biggest
mistake, was to
misunderestimate
me?

Little Miss?

Lasts

There are some lasts we don’t remember.
They pass us by in their seeming insignificance.

The last time your dad made your lunch.
The last time your mum read you a bedtime story.
The last time you were tucked in goodnight.
The last time you were picked up at the school gates.

But there are some lasts we’ll never forget.
That last exam before graduating.
The last time you spoke to your gran on the phone.
That last goodbye at the airport.
The last time you squeezed their hand and they squeezed it back.

I don’t know which lasts are more important. The ones that slip past us, unnoticed, or the ones etched into our memories forever.

But, if you had known at the time, that those insignificant lasts would never happen again, would you have behaved differently? Hugged them for longer? Held onto the moment for just a fraction more? Said thank you, and I love you?

Take care.

Water yourself. Like a plant. Give yourself sunshine. Breathe fresh air. Touch something green. Run. Don’t run. Walk when you cross the road. Treat yourself. Wear the nice clothes you were saving for a special occasion. Do a full face of make up and take it all off again. Hug your friends. Hug your family. Hug yourself. Embrace your soft spots. Physically and mentally. Wear that expensive perfume. Take a long bath. Light a candle. Write letters. Read good books. Binge watch crap telly. Eat your vegetables. Order that take-out. Get an early night. Stay up all night with your nearest and dearest. Laugh often. Cry when you need to. Lie in. Get up early and watch the sunrise. Paint your nails for no reason. Find new music. Listen to old songs that remind you of people and places you love. Dance badly. Dance naked. Dance often. Allow yourself space. Say yes more. Say no when you want to. Speak up. Listen carefully.

Breathe deeply.
and take care.

Badges.

Do you think you broke me first?
Do you not think I’ve been through this before?
At the hands of another man.
(If we can call him that)

Do you think you broke me the hardest?
Do you think this is the worst pain I’ve ever been put through?
No, I was 18 and three quarters.
Naïve heartbreak is always the worst,
the one you don’t see coming.

Do you think you cut the deepest?
Have you not seen my scars?
From those before you
who plunged the knife further than you’d ever go,
down to the bone.

Do you think you hold that badge for me?
First? Hardest? Deepest?
No.
There were others before.

And the worst thing about it? Is that you knew that already.
And you didn’t think to handle my heart more carefully?

Of course not.

But you were the one I expected more from.
That badge?
It’s always been yours.

black list

i could name you all,
you know?

i could write your names out right now
for the whole world to see
to shame
i could do it
you know?

so why don’t i?

why do i sit here carrying the shame of you,
and you
and you
and you?

you, who knew i’d said no, twice, and continued.

you, who knew what i’d seen, and that i should’ve gone to the police.

you, who gaslit me for years, taught me i was crazy, losing my mind.

you, who emotionally blackmailed me into thinking it was my fault for your wrong doings.

so why don’t i?

why don’t i make a list?
a black list.
of names.
to warn other women.
so maybe they don’t have to go through what i went through.

and the fact that i don’t?
does that make me complicit?
does it make me a coward?

or have i learnt that nobody will believe me either way?

because –
no, not him, he wouldn’t do that.
no, you’re lying.
no, you’re exaggerating.
no, that’s not what i heard.

i don’t make a list, because it puts me back in the firing line.
and it’ll be me that’s scrutinised.

well, what were you wearing?
were you drunk?
weren’t you just playing hard to get?
are you sure you saw what you did, because that’s pretty dark?
nobody would do that.
you’re lying.

but the list still exists.
in my head.
i know who you are.

and
in my head
you don’t get away with it
not anymore.