Reviled bodyparts

You’re mocking me with your thighs
I see you, everyone of you walking round here
Thighs a normal size
Svelte thighs,  slim thighs
Thighs my eyes can’t tear away from
And thighs I wish I had to stand on
I look down at my own attempt
Shrek would be pleased with these trunks
I am far from pleased
Had I the power, passion and the danger
Like Xena these thighs could obliterate all
I’d leap from army to army
A whirligig of flying kicks and battle cries
Ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai!
But not these thighs, no, no, no
There’s no amount of exercise
Believe me – I’ve tried
My thighs exist in the outdated notion
That bigger is better
The muscle knots and weighs my legs down
Perhaps if I took a little more care
Showed a little love
Gave them a squeeze
They’d behave within normal parameters
But I don’t,  and I think
Until I treat them better
They’re going to be big
It’s attention seeking tricks
Clever thighs
Cunning thighs
I’m paying attention now, aren’t I?

Oh, brother

I’ve promised to love and protect you
But it’s you who protected me, in truth
Returning home damaged and feral
By all accounts a monster made of
Too much hurt
You helped me rebuild some of myself
And though I hate to see you go
You’ll flourish best away, I know
Departing now for lands untravelled
For an adventure

AN: I am going to miss the crap out of my baby bro. I can’t even get these words out right. This poem stops dead because when he goes a part of my heart goes with him. A very unique young man (I suppose I should say) and someone who has been here for me almost unshakingly. I am so excited for his travels, everyone should have the opportunity to live abroad.

Birthday observations

1. Our forebears used what we define as class ‘A’s as routinely as we pop paracetamol. What we put into our bodies affects our progeny. We are all recovering addicts.

2. Life is so mad and so beautiful.

3. Veuve is a really lovely champagne.

4. Bacon and maple syrup is the ultimate food combination.

5. My fingers are not a medium ring size.

6. Chanel, not L’Oréal,  is worth it £££

7. Japan will be beautiful this Christmas.

8. I love my family.

9. I get euphoria from alcohol.

10. We are all made of stardust.

Language and sensitivity (a caveat)

I would like to add a further problem with the language used around mental illness. Years ago, before I began treatment for psychotic symptoms, and indeed before my ‘break’ I began to see a doctor about bipolar. I was scared off by the possibility of diagnosis and buried my head in the sand.

Anyway, while this does not leave me qualified to comment on bipolar as an illness, the language presents a conundrum. Bipolar was already a word in usage. It, of course, signifies polar opposites.

Definition of bipolar in English:

adjective

  1. Having or relating to two poles or extremities: a sharply bipolar division of affluent and underclass
  2. Relating to or occurring in both North and South polar regions: bipolar species
  3. (Of psychiatric illness) characterized by both manic and depressive episodes, or manic ones only.
  4. (Of a person) suffering from bipolar disorder.
  5. (Of a nerve cell) having two axons, one either side of the cell body.
  6. Electronics (Of a transistor or other device) using both positive and negative charge carriers.

By appropriating a word already in common usage, how can people ever use the word ‘bipolar’ again sensibly? Etiquette must be created as to how and when to correctly say ‘bipolar’ and this is an ‘education’ problem. People are artless with words.

The same could be said of ‘depression’ which could also be the act of pushing. God is in the detail (and context).

Language and sensitivity

I’m not an advocate of being PC. People will probably find me highly irreverent, but what really gets my goat is the way language is approached with regards to mental health.

I know, by and large, that this is a broader problem in the way we tend to trivialise something that has been a taboo for an age but still, I’ve concocted a few guidelines to approach what for many are normal neuroses without belittling the suffering of people who face a serious and often unending struggle.

Phrase Use if… Do not use if… Use instead…
 I’m a bit ‘bipolar’  You suffer from crushing lows and/or destructive highs  You get a little emotional sometimes  I’m a little ‘up and down’
 I’m a bit ‘schizo’  You suffer with delusions/hallucinations/paranoia/depressing lows/cognition problems/catatonia…(my, the list is endless – to be honest I’d never advocate using the ‘schizo’ label anyway)  You have a tendency to chop and change your mind, you act a bit unpredictably  I can be ‘changeable’ or ‘unpredictable’
 I’m a bit ‘OCD’  You have compulsions that rule and determine the way in which you live your life  You like things to be ‘just so’ and get a bit ‘into’ things  I can be a little bit of a ‘perfectionist’ or ‘passionate’
 I’m ‘depressed’  You feel worthless beyond compare/listless/no longer want to live/ take no pleasure from the world  You’ve had a bad day  I feel a bit ‘blue’

Of course there are more than these, and I actually think there’s a real call for a summit on language surrounding mental health, or compulsory education for every English-speaker. I think many have been guilty of using these phrases, not maliciously but we do need to change the way we think.

Maker

“I imagine this is nothing to you.”

There was a broken, mismatched thing looking around the circle of seated figures. A light shone on each of them, yet their features were obscured by cowls, casting shadows on their faces.

They were stone, mute and unmoved by its suffering. There was no recollection, and if there was they feigned ignorance.

“You see, I know where I came from. I know where I grew up. I know who created me. But in that night you violated me and tore me apart, you made me.”

Still, there was no response.

The creature continued to talk, “It is not often one gets to meet their maker.”

It unsheathed a blade. There was still no reaction.

Quick as a flash, it spun around. The blade was an extension of the arm and gracefully, purposefully, their necks became easy prey to lighting-fast steel.

There was no gush, no spurt. These were already dead things. Nothing flowed, just the slow ooze of blood long since cold.

“Isn’t that what we all crave? To kill our deity and become divine in our own right.”