Coming Out The Other Side

 

 

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After my last post ‘Suicide’, i did exactly that. That dark pit had just got too deep to bear, as had my thoughts. I wasn’t insane; it wasn’t a cry for attention; it wasn’t a mistake. It was a very deliberate attempt to end my life which had become too awful to live. My family have no care for me and i was in such deep despair that i didn’t consider the impact my death would have on friends, my Mum or my sister, selfish though that may sound. Before i ‘died’, i wrote the following poem because suicide IS a very painful option; not an easy get-out as some with no knowledge of mental health, would presume:

SUICIDE

Suicide is painless!

But don’t believe that’s true

I may be dead and gone

But I’ll never forget you

 

And I’ll come back to this Earth

As your angel, to check you’re ok

I’ll stay by your side forever

Being careful not to get in the way

 

I know you worked so hard with me

But there was still so much more stuff

I’ve begged you not to walk away

Tho’ you must have had enough

 

So, suicide’s not painless

For the loved ones left behind

As I opted out of life

And as such, humankind

 

I’m not much good at anything

And now I pay the cost

I’m crying for the ones I loved

Who now, to me, are lost

 

I wonder where I’m going

Be it heaven; be it hell

The decision made by only God

I bid you fond farewell

 

So suicide not’s painless

And I can vouch for that

For someone else is sitting

In the seat where I once sat.

 

I’d made up my mind, and believe me, getting down nearly 100 pills takes some doing and is not without fear or guts.  The decision to opt out of life is a huge one but all you can think, while washing down the medication, is that soon i would be pain free. I hoped i’d go to heaven to be with lost family, friends and cherubs and angels. But i was unsure, as surely taking my own life goes against God’s wishes; it is not His timing for me. Maybe i would be cast into the permanent darkness of Hell, deeper than the darkness i had left behind. I took a chance. 

I waited for sleep and oblivion to come come but every now and then i woke from my stupor, only to swallow more pills, not even bothering to count or care what they were. Eventually i floated into unconsciousness and not finding myself in heaven, but somewhere in between, in no-man’s land.

Then suddenly, i was shaken back to life by my carer, just about, and not without anger as i did NOT want to ‘come back’. All i remember, after that was a rapid blue-light dash to the local hospital, having monitors and drips connected everywhere. I started to come round, seeing other people lined up on ambulance trolleys and instantly felt guilty and undeserving of care, having inflicted this condition deliberately upon myself where others were waiting and there because of valid reasons, car accidents, heart attacks etc. and i didn’t consider myself worthy of any care or attention. 

I was in Intensive Care for a day which i remember nothing about, and then transferred to a ward with other ‘really sick’ people. I was attached to a drip which contained a drug to counteract the damage i had done to my liver from all the paracetamol i took (and i DO NOT recommend this)! i refrained from telling the other patients in my bay, the reason for my being there; suddenly feeling ashamed. That was until the doctors came to do their ’rounds’ and stood at the foot of my bed, announcing clearly and obviously that “This is Ellie Sofia; she is here because of a drug overdose” and i thought to myself, “why don’t you announce it to all the world while you’re at it or better still, why not put a paragraph in the Daily Telegraph”, but of course, i would never, ever be worthy of taking up even a centimetre in a newspaper. I was counted as a ‘nothing’ and was treated accordingly for my wicked deed. I was there for a week, attached to drips etc and suddenly wanted to be back at the home i had left with all it’s heartache and despair. Anywhere would be better than being there, being thought of as nothing better than a WASTE OF SPACE or a BLOODY NUISANCE!

Now i am home, having come out the other side, i can’t say i’m pleased or or even that i regret what i did, purely, i wish i had died. I’ve blown any chance of ever seeing my children or grandchildren again as they dismiss me as mental health fruit and nut case, not to be touched with a bargepole.

But as i am here, i realise that i have to make some sort of life for myself that doesn’t include my children which is so very painful but i have to accept it. When i am fully recovered, i intend to build up some semblance of life where i count in the world and perhaps make new friends. Writing this blog has helped me get a lot of anger and thoughts out of my system so thank you to any of you who take the trouble to read this account. It is not written cleverly or artistically; it’s just raw feelings and the truth. 

 

 

 

Drowning, Not Waving….

I’m sick of all the games and lies; sick of all the fights. There’s a tempest blowing up inside my mind and I don’t know if I can survive it. The winds are high, the sea is rough but I never learned to swim. I try my best to hang on but I feel myself losing my grip and suddenly, I plunge into the icy waters. I cry for help but no-one can hear me, so I cry to God in desperation but He doesn’t answer my pleas. I am drowning, not waving. It’s only a matter of time……. then suddenly, I have no fear and suddenly I really don’t care. I welcome the silence as I sink into the icy depths; floating away, to no-man’s land where I am alone, and there are no games and lies, and at last, there are no fights. Just peace in my head and then I realize that this is not no-man’s land but somewhere beautiful and far away where an angel takes my hand and the pain in my heart melts away.

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Dynamite

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Can I forgive you….no, and even if I did

You wouldn’t thank me for it

You, being in total denial

I see straight through your smart exterior

To the rat you are inside

And you’d never pardon me for telling you

So I silence my voice and bind my hands

So that I cannot write a letter to you

You took a stick of dynamite and threw it

Into the centre of my childhood

And blasted it to tiny pieces

Yet I yearn to love and I cannot cure myself

Of the love I had for you for what I thought

You were before I knew you

Dear Diary

diaryDear Diary;

 

Well, here I sit in the middle of a chilly night, shivering with cold despite a blanket, which I have pulled up to my chin. It has a picture of ‘The Snowman’ on it; red, white and blue, not unlike our Union Jack , the major difference being that ‘The Snowman’  which I’ve had goodness how many years, (and have now, rather ungratefully, completely forgotten who gave it to me), isn’t blowing in the wind at the top of a pole.

 

I fell asleep several hours ago, in my riser-recliner chair which has been carefully manufactured for the elderly (not that I am!), and disabled folk such as myself. I didn’t intend to nod off, I might add, but it’s hardly worth going to bed for four hours so I have decided to write this, out of sheer boredom and to pass away the long and tedious hours!

 

It is a clear night, with the sky pitch black and starry (due the street lights being switched off at night by the Council, supposedly saving them a few pence!); and yet I note that our Council Tax hasn’t been reduced one penny. So, where exactly is our hard-earned cash going? No doubt to better feed the Managers and Directors at their annual Christmas dinner! Yet, if you carefully observe, there are homeless people who call an empty cardboard box a home, littered in the many shop doors in town in order to stay partially protected from the bitter wind.

 

My intention was to go to bed, as I was weary from the effort of the day. Instead, I wake in the wee small hours only to find myself bent forward with my head on my laptop’s keyboard so that I now have QWERTY indented into my forehead!

 

It’s now two o’clock in the morning and only four hours left to while away the time until my carers arrive to get me washed, dressed and breakfasted in a record time of thirty minutes, which is the maximum that the Council will so generously allow me! Oh, deep joy!!

 

So now, i shall leave you, my faithful friend, to go and make a cup of coffee, (white, two sugars) to keep me going till six o’clock when my Carers arrive.

Sisters

MY SISTER

My sister is so precious

She stands by God with me

She’s wonderful to talk to

About Christianity

 

Out of all our family

There’s only Jo and me

Who will be faithful Christians

From here to eternity

 

We talked of faith and God

And life, and this and that

It was so good to talk to her

We had a lovely chat

 

She came to visit me

I was delighted that she came

The more we talked and shared our faith

The closer we became

 

When God made us, I wonder

If we were side by side

We’re only born a year apart

That cannot be denied

 

What plans has God for us

If we stay strong and true?

Where’er we stray or travel

Jo, always I will love you

 

I’m so very, very thankful

I gave up the pills and booze

Out of Jo and alcohol

It’s always Jo, I’ll choose.

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Black Dog

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The Black Dog, Sir Winston Churchill called it….Depression that is. Today is a bad day. The black dog has taken up residence in my brain and i want nothing more than it to go away. But that’s what Bipolar does for you….it does you no favours and grants you no peace. How much longer must i suffer like this? I’m not nice to be around as i can barely string two words together. I pray for the light at the end of the tunnel to reappear as it has disappeared out of view all together and all that is left of me is the black.

BLACK DOG

I would love to tell you that I’m different, special
But I cannot lie
I am screaming silently
Being trodden into the soil

I want to show you that I’m perfect
But shame prevents me
And scars say otherwise
A heart, left loving, and hating

I await the appearance of the black dog
An axe chopping at a tall tree
Timber falling
Like my mood

I can’t talk; thoughts choking my throat
I hear the whispers in the air, “whore, whore”
Fear masquerading as love
The clouds always bruise the sky

“As I lay me down to sleep I Dear Lord for you to keep my mind, body and soul. For all there is to know you know so make provision Lord God based on what you know. Keep me safe and wrapped tightly in your arms: safe from all danger and harm. Calm every storm, wind and gave keep my feet from the grave; only when it’s my time to go; take me Lord for only you know. Put fire in my heart for you and your word; continue to be my inspiration, my guide and my light. Direct my footsteps Lord day and night. If I fall pick me up, when I’m weak fill my cup; have mercy on my dear soul if I’m naked be my clothes; when I’m hungry feed my Lord. Let every need be met from shelter, clothes, water, transportation and everything in between. Use my talents to prove an income and to labor for your kingdom. Bless every endeavor and give me new insight daily. In your hands we commit our every concern and trust you to do as you will.” (Tim Wright)

 

THE MADNESS OF MY MIND

mad brain

Still searching through the ruins of my mind

For a semblance of order amongst the chaos

Trying, in my deepest, darkest thoughts

To perceive the slightest glimpse of daylight

This is the most absurd I think I’ve ever felt

Grappling through the pitch blackness

Searching for my sanity within the dank cave

Having crept under the ‘Do Not Enter’ sign

My own fault; my own fault, of course

Always, my own fault; all my life I’ve been told

It’s my own fault, and sometimes I have to

Reluctantly agree, not to disagree

I chose to step through the No-Go warning

Stepping out onto the railway track

Without first looking to see if there is a train

Hurtling towards me, not caring much of the outcome

I am still no further on into making any headway

Through the monochrome and the gloom

And sometimes forget that I am delving into

The very inkiness which resides in my brain

Wondering whether this will be the place of my demise

My mind, in a fit of madness, has engulfed itself

And there on my gravestone will be etched

‘It was her own fault’: ‘We always told her so’.

An Angel In Your Pocket

 

Hey little one! You have nothing to fear

I’m your angel of caring; can you see?

If you look in my eyes, there’ll only be love

So you see little one; don’t be frightened of me

 

It’s a fact, mum and dad, they never got on

It’s a wonder that you were conceived

They showed you no love, just used and abused

It’s a crime that they both disbelieve

 

I keep you, precious child; safe in my heart

And I see all your hurt, shame and pain

And I see all the beauty that you have inside

And I won’t let them hurt you again

 

Hey little girl! It was never your fault

You have done absolutely no wrong

You were harmed by people you thought could trust

Because the perverts then came along

 

But don’t cry little babe; you are safe in my arms

I’ll care for you forever more

You are loved, sweetheart; you weren’t black as coal

And you were not an infant whore

 

It’s safe, pretty one, to come out of your shell

Of your prison within a high wall

Climb up high, hold on tight and don’t be afraid

You can always give me a call.

 

I’m your friend, sent from heaven, my precious child

To stay by your side, all the time

And I will protect you and not let you down

Please believe me, it’s ok to climb

 

Out of your pit, when you’re ready, I’ll wait

For even a thousand years

I have plenty of tissues if you need a good cry

To mop up a million tears

 

Live your life for today, as yesterday’s gone

Who knows what tomorrow will bring

Live life for the moment, each second, right now

Your soul is awakening

 

An angel in your pocket, I’ll be

No harsh rules am I stipulating

And if you feel upset, scared, alone

This angel in your pocket is waiting.