Never a borrower nor a lender be

Money.

Such a divisive, ugly thing.

Money does make the world go around and the fact of this is cringe worthy. How did we go from beast to material-grabbing monsters?

We’ve created a needlessly complicated world where money facilitates everything. Even the land to live freely is not free.

I have had a bad habit of what seems like arbitrarily cutting out people who don’t repay the money they are lent, and now I keep a tight purse for any except those I feel I can trust with absolute certainty. I’ve been guilty of not repaying in the past (although granted, as below, I didn’t place value on that connection) and karma has most definitely taught me what I needed to learn.

Coming from a position of debt and being stressed (twice almost to the point of suicide) about money, cutting people out really isn’t about the money.

If that money’s been lent and promised back, it’s because I needed it. When it’s not paid the fall out of late fees gets too much for me to deal with.

Admittedly I now know to say no.

The point is, refusing to pay back means you value whatever crap it is you’re clearly buying (be it drugs, clothes, alcohol) over your connection with the person you’ve borrowed from and the suffering you cause.

The trust is gone. Actions have spoken louder than words and because that suffering becomes insurmountable, the only logical next step is to say goodbye.

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Wipe the slate clean

Looking at my life
And I’d like to wipe the slate clean
Not to erase good or bad choices
Or wish for things that might have been

But wipe the slate and take a look
At the people in my life
And at myself
And whether I
Am satisfied
With fresh new eyes

I know there’s people lost in time
And distance without fault or blame
But we move in and out of each others spheres
We should bring love and wealth
Enrich, not cause tears

….this is cheesy and unfinished. I meant nourishment more than wealth. Uninspired and choc full of zopiclone.

Night

Comfortable

Comfort is a relative thing. The comfort of shelter from the rain can seem divine after waiting at a bus stop without an umbrella.

Habit can be comfortable.

Change is a scary thing. As creatures on this world we cling to what we know when we’re scared, alone, low in confidence and stuck in a cycle of self-loathing so destructive we cannot imagine or hope for better.

So when you said comfortable, I heard better the devil you know, knowing the damage that the devils I didn’t had done.

I’m constantly trying to push my comfort zone, and I realise that the pain I used to feel, the torment was not comfortable. The ability to hurt someone without a care exists because in the moment of that action you don’t care about that person. The hurt I was dragged through made this permissable, in my current state of mind it would be inexcusable.

There is nothing left to say. No hurt that hasn’t already been exacted. That was the end.

I’ve turned a page.

Can I just take a moment..

…to share this?

Consent may be given to one sort of sexual activity but not another, or with conditions, such as wearing a condom. Consent can be withdrawn at any time during sexual activity and each time activity occurs.

I didn’t do this to you.

Yes you did. Fuck you.

As for one particular sexual partner who may or may not have spread some awful rumours about me – they were so hurtful because I was actually raped. Any time you said no, I stopped. It’s called respect.

I’m glad this conference took place. I’m glad I have the validation that I don’t have to torture myself – because victim blaming comes from yourself just as much as anyone else.

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Symptomania

Oh dear….

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Well, my voices are almost constant – but this has been a while now. I get tired of them, but falling in love – it pushes your whole body out of balance. I’m flooding myself with feel-good hormones, I’m worrying over silly little things….

I suppose I’m starting to balance myself out, but I did an interview with The Express about psychosis. I hope, I sincerely hope it has helped someone out there feel less alone, because it left me feeling paranoid and stressed out.

Whoever does media on a regular basis – I applaud you. My words have been taken out of context, my ‘story’ has been sensationalised and changed to fit a few punchy paragraphs (hardly necessary, given the drama that has plagued the last few years!) and the most important part, in my opinion, has been glossed over.

The recovery. The years of hard work and struggle I have put in to get myself to this position – to the point I feel that one day I could be independent, I could look after myself alone and I could achieve everything I hope for.

And that is the part that, I think, really matters to other people with psychosis. It’s the part that matters to me. The horror stories of your worst moments do shock and stun people into trying to comprehend the terror of living with something like this – but learning how to live again: that’s what I want to read about. That’s what I want to know.

There are still so many moments of doubt in my life, and there are so many times still I feel like I’m going to be trapped in a sort of limbo for the rest of my days but the small battles I win, the longer time goes by and I don’t completely fall apart…

There’s no point looking at an image without seeing the work behind it. It doesn’t help.

Anyway, on another topic…

Disassociative symptoms. I had a rather severe disassociative episode on Friday. I rarely get ‘negative’ symptoms anymore, but I’ve been stressed. The ups and downs of trying to fit into another persons life and have them fit in mine, the uncertainty of working somewhere that can’t be bothered to tell me if I have a permanent job – and me being too chicken-shit to actually ask about it. The article.

It must have been too much for me.

I felt like I was in a dream. Nothing felt real. I checked out. I could barely react to things, I seemed slow, unresponsive, sluggish.

The world looked wrong, even now I’m still trying to drag myself out of the remains of it, I look at things and they don’t seem quite connected – my hands seem independent of my body if I watch them flutter across the keyboard now and I still feel slightly slow, like I’m waiting for something to jerk me out.

But with plenty of sleep and the affection of a good man I felt safe.

So there’s another hope that rather than fading has shone brighter because every little relapse that doesn’t end in disaster is something I can chalk up in the ‘win’ column and know that I can cope a little better.

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Don’t panic, no not yet

I heard something and it turned out to be true.

Panic over. Found a charger.

I have to document this each time it happens.

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Sheogorath

I am a shadow of your subconscious, a blemish on your fragile little psyche. You know me. You just don’t know it.

~ Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness (Skyrim)

Break

I don’t fear breaking down again
Everytime I break I shed the things
That sped my descent
And soar a little higher

But I do fear losing you.

Nothing

It’s not nothing just trauma theory that creeps inside I can’t perceive what’s really happening to me because I can’t distinguish anxiety from reality.

This is what happens

Now I can’t cope. I am feeling anxious, excited (and not in a good way) and I feel like people are ignoring me. I’m trying to rationalise it out, growing desperate and realising I have no way to control myself so long as my phone remains on. So by switching off the phone I regain a measure of control but I still feel panicked. Over nothing.

Nothing.

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