cynicalpessimistic

Closet Intellectual

Dear mother (part 1)

Dear Mother,

Tell me again, was it worth it?
When you decided that your pain didn’t matter
When you felt her life shatter
In the palm of your mothers hand
The other choice was you but she took the grand

It doesn’t make sense
How you forgot you loved me
Or said you loved me.

You’re evasive
You replaced me
I wasn’t good enough
I was a messy scruff

But you made it so
You made me so

I’m everything and nothing at the same time
I’m cutting my skin and have starved myself
almost to death

BUT YOU STILL CRY
NOT FOR THE REASONS YOU SHOULD – WHY?!
“YOU’RE NOT A GUY. YOU SHOULDN’T DIE.
BECAUSE YOU DON’T MEET MY EXPECTATIONS.
I DON’T SEE THE CORRELATION…
SO I’M NOT COMING BACK”

So I tried to end it
A thousand times
And a thousand times
I started to exist again

When do I start to live?
The time I have left
Is going through a sieve….

The pain from your absent love
Is worst than a taser to the calf…
And believe you me
I’ve had that more than enough
For being a bit rough
And having a killer’s touch

But you knew that didn’t you?
You knew it so stop.

It’s all out there now
You wouldn’t believe it
But now you know
Why you couldn’t speak to me on the phone
Cause I was banged up in those four walls.

Secluded…
Abusive…
But some how…
a m u s i n g.

Give Mental Illness a Smack – PROCRASTINATE!

It goes without saying; I procrastinate a whole lot. Now usually people procrastinate over “normal” things like doing some office work or a bit of overdue house cleaning. I, however, procrastinate over going to the loo, thinking to myself: “ooh I can just hold it for as long as it takes for me to finish watching this episode of the last series” Suddenly the concept of pausing becomes oblivious to me and it’s funny that because, when I am looking at the things that I do not procrastinate over, there’s a bit of a conflicting issue there. And at the top of the list is self – loathing. There is not a day when I do not have such a negative outlook on everything, when I am not hating the world, hating myself, I always have time for it. Realising this, I think, is a step in the right direction.

Delving into my past just a touch, will help some to understand a bit more. Like everyone in this damned world, I suffer from mental illness(es). A bit more severe than a handful but nonetheless, I have been diagnosed with Recurrant Depressive Disorder and Emotionally Unstable Disorder of a Borderline Type. Personally, I don’t think that is the case; merely a psychiatrist who couldn’t put the work in, threw nonchalantly whatever he deemed fit while reading ‘psychiatry for dummies’ on his lunch break. Obviously i’m taking a cheap jibe in digression here. Where was I? Oh yes, my past. Well after being admitted to 7 different psychiatric hospitals in various parts of the UK over the span of two years, you would think that I must be doing well if I’m out of hospital. You’d have thought wrong. Self-harm plays a big part in my everyday life. And to me, self-harm is more than just the physical harming to oneself. It can also be mental – telling myself that I am not good enough to amount to anything. I always have time for it. I always make time for it. Why is that? Who do simple tasks like having a shower or getting up at an appropriate time in the morning always have to be second guessed or not even done at all. But the thought of taking a blade to my skin – before I even dare to convince myself for the thousandth time that it does not make me feel better after, it’s done.

Something tells me that it’s not just me. I realised this a while back and medication goes hand in hand with determination – don’t depend on it.

So this is what I say: PROCRASTINATE. When you feel the urge to have a self-loathing verbal outburst, PROCRASTINATE. Shout at the top of your voice: “I am special and I am worthy of love. When you get that itch to inevitably scar that precious skin of yours, PROCRASTINATE. Play a song, call a friend, call a helpline. Do something. Do anything! Run outside and scream profanity at the world… and before you know it, you’ve forgotten what got you into a muck in the first place. I’ll be honest. I say this, but it doesn’t always work. But I tell you what, it’s been just under a month now and I’ve never felt better for managing to procrastinate sometimes.

Don’t blame yourself for being something that isn’t you. You are worth your weight in gold. All of you. I can’t sit here and be a hypocrite about this and say I can do it every time I get an urge but dammit, trying is gracious. It means you – no! – we! – thought about something positive. And that is a better life. We are more than just a statistic or a diagnosis. We are humans. And humans deserve to love themselves as much as anyone else loves them too.

Love you all🙂

 

…and if i have the strength to end it all, i have the strength to start again. My story doesn’t end here; this chapter does.

Music 24 – Making Music Matter

Now, as a music lover, I would never pass up the opportunity to plug in my guitar and try to learn my newest favourite song or when I’m doing a bit of cleaning around the house, to get me going, a bit of lunchtime radio might just do the trick. But what happens when your head suddenly becomes a horrible place to be? When you think of everything except thoughts of things that make you happy? Food has lost its taste, scents have lost its smell and the world becomes a very dark place. There are many ways in which one can cope with such situations on their own or with medication, but most need just a bit of extra help. That’s where Music 24 comes in.

Music 24 is a not-for-profit establishment based in Luton. They offer Music Therapy and other music based activities in Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire. Graeme Davis and Teela Hughes are the co-founders of Music 24 which was established in 2014 in the month of April. Their main aim is to work with people who, let’s say, have been through and/or still going through tough circumstances in life such as, a learning disability, Dementia, mental illnesses and much more.

Upon my first encounter with Music 24, I was on a psychiatric ward (not for the first time mind you) and had been told by the nurses and support workers there that “Music Therapy” would be a regular thing for the next six months. Frankly, I was a tad sceptical about it because usually when people come in to keep patients occupied on the ward, they are not the happiest looking people on the planet. Sometimes they tend to be condescending by way of manner and speech. In relation to music, well some couldn’t even play an instrument so patients would show lack of interest in the activity resulting in the activity to be discontinued. Music 24 however, are so much more different. They speak to you like you are a human being, which sounds like an obvious thing, but I should point out that the opposite happens on a regular basis when people from the public come in to provide a service. They also can play instruments to a brilliant standard. That in itself is all they had to do really. Just play. And sure enough the other patients joined in. The best part is, you don’t have to be great at it. Just making sounds with an instrument is enough to stimulate the mind. Me being doubtful, it took me a while to get in the swing of things, but when I saw the guitar, I lit up with joy. Memories of teaching myself how to play this sweet instrument came flooding back and I was itching to play. A few weeks went by and not only was I excited about seeing all the instruments, but I was excited to see the people that had brought them in. struggling with depression, I would have been still stuck in bed. But it was the sheer simplicity of music that got me up, playing, singing and dancing.

This is where I ask the question to myself; clearly music is like a drug – so they say, but what’s more important here? Music activities and having fun or being highly dosed on medication and possibly becoming dependant on them for the rest of your life? Its about getting people their lives back or continuing it with their condition in the best way they possibly can. That, in my opinion, is what Music 24 is all about.

When asked what it’s like to work with people with mental health conditions, Graeme of Music 24 explains: “it’s a privilege to work with the people on the wards. They are so creative and the talent is virtually untapped and therefore quite raw. This is like fuel that feeds the energy that people bring to the sessions.

“It’s equally sad because of the pain they are experiencing. A double-edged sword. Whilst medication is highly important and clearly a priority, it does seem to deprived people of their uniqueness and spontaneous creativity.

“With regards to the future, we’re just fresh off the starting blocks for expanding into Hertfordshire, however with our Dementia work. Our mental health work is more about getting people to realise their ability and use it to increase self-worth, confidence and inspire ambition. We’d like to offer work to the talented people we come across, this gives people a sense of purpose and belonging but is very much for a select few rather than curing the masses…. We’d like to offer more creative opportunities and alternatives to creating lasting coping mechanisms to prevent relapse and such”

To simply put it, Music 24 made my stay as an inpatient, bearable and filled with enjoyment and laughter and has motivated me to keep banging away on my guitar in my spare time. Thank you for your time and the service you provide for people like me.

To make any enquires visit their website here

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Address:

65-67 Bute Street

Luton

Bedfordshire

LU1 2EY

Thoughts In a Psychiatric Hospital

I’m an incompetent complication. I fucking suck. What am I doing here? You mean to say that I can decipher the poems of the late greats like John Donne and Andrew Marvell but I can’t figure out my own, in comparison, minuscule mind?! fucking sorcery! witchcraft at it’s bloody finest. A*s in English but cannot articulate my emotions? shambles!.

That’s it. I’m done for. I’m a disposable homo-sapien. I’ve been used up and I’ve reached my limit. Now throw me in the trash or cash me in for a new or improved Leonard.

What’s It Like To Be Admitted To a Psychiatric Hospital?

And when it’s the end of their shift, caring is so absent from their minds. They see 8:00pm and they’re all over the place suddenly incompetent in the action of just getting their coats and bags. Clock’s ticking past the hour and they can’t function mentally; forgetting your name or even gender when you ask them something. It’s always “talk to the night staff, I’m not on shift now” or asking if you’re okay and too too too… too fucking discombobulated and in a rush to even wait for a fucking answer.
And when they are busy and someone harms themselves or tries to commit (suicide) they call it “attention seeking” so I think: okay I want to end my life so shall I wait till you’re all done with your ‘paperwork’ and you all are on the floor around the bedrooms, lounges and dining room, and then try to end it? Because THAT to me is attention seeking. Absolutely fucking ridiculous.
And at the back of my mind I want the help I want to get better but I swear to Satan, God, spirits, whoever the fuck is up or down there that the mental health services is ammunition for SUICIDE.
You see the government know what they’re doing. You try and kill yourself and they think you’re pusillanimous but they can’t just kill you. No that would be inhumane. So they put you in a place where you can be ‘safe’. From yourself and for others. And you think: oh okay I need the help so I’ll follow the system but then you can’t handle it any more. Your underlying symptoms get worse. So they offer you medication. But if you refuse…if you refuse, THEY DETAIN YOU AGAINST YOUR WILL BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO TAKE ANY OF THEIR LACED UP DRUGS. And these drugs do nothing I tell you that from experience and you poor folks fall for it. For example “urgh so depressed. Forgot to take my meds today”. But you can’t operate heavy machinery, you cant drive you can’t LIVE. Oh my son of a gun and guess what? When you’re detained, they own you. They own your dysfunctional mental behind. You slip up and they pin you down and inject you with whatever the hell they think will help you but oh they tell you what it is but do you know what the they’re saying when you’re in the middle of a mental meltdown? After the drug takes effect, depending on how high a dose it is, all you want to do is sleep. You’re drowsy as anything. Still suffering from symptoms though but your behind is too drugged up to fight it all and you think well what’s the point. Same thing happens the next day and the next and the next until you cant take it any more so you comply with the system: take your medication ’cause you want to get out of the corrupt institution that is meant to be a safe place. Its a mind thing. You want to get better so you will get better by forcing yourself to ignore whatever it is that’s tugging your mind. So you get out. Discharge. And your behind is so deeply traumatised that you never ever want to end up in a place like that again. But you’re weak still. Like spilt milk. You can cover it up with newspaper but IT’S STILL THERE. When someone gets on your tits like really gets on em and you cant take it any more but then you think about going back into a place like that again so you bottle it up. But every time you get hurt you’re eroding. You’re a house on a cliff with the waves crashing in. And you know it but you don’t want to move out. Its a promise not a threat. Eventually you will fall off and that is it. You can’t retrieve that house again. In parts maybe.
An arm here, a leg there. Maybe (and I hate to be vulgar) even a hand stuck firmly up your arsehole or across your eyes.
Its over. You’re done. Next patient please.
Bed shortage my fat black arse.

It’s all in the matrix. In the films you watch. And I’ll be dead when it all kicks off and you’re all stuck in this world wanting to die but you will never succeed because you’re trapped. This earth IS hell. Do not be fooled. When you die it might be heaven. It might be. Whatever it’s going to be I’m sure it’ll be better than this (life that we are living). And if it’s nothing. Then I guess it was like you was never born in the first place. Like you never existed at all.

The closer you are the less you see. Closest to God, closest to Satan, friends, family, your dog, your Xbox.

But who am I to talk? I’m just an 18 year old transgender male from South London in a psychiatric hospital.

and i am done with this s*it

You don’t know what it’s like to stare at the ceiling at four in the morning wishing that when you shut your eyes, you will die. It’s hard you know. Being. It’s hard being when the world seems like it’s completely against you. There’s nothing you can do to change this because its completely out of your hands. A while back my feelings woke me up in the middle of the night and at that moment I knew that I never wanted to see the sunrise. I hated myself. I hated myself. I hated… my self had become someone else’s I needed something that could replace this… this hatred for myself and he wasn’t helping. He made me lose all my friends he made my family hate me he made me cry until tears couldn’t fall down my face anymore and I was staring into a wall thinking fuck this all. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t interested when we first met but he had his ways set and he knew what he was doing. Tell me again what is it that you wanted? was it your chance to get me famous when you told me that all women were dangerous and the only way to survive was to kill all in a world that contained this?… look what you made me do. You made me forget all and love only you. You made me think that scaring was the only way to get through and its cool that you said no one would ever love me that my heart would stay cold that id never ever have anyone to hold.

Joseph the Zombie

I’m dead. I died on the 31st of August 2012. I was involved in a car crash, my mum, dad, brother and sister was in the car with me. They all survived. If you are dead, you say, then how are you telling this story? Well it all started 2 months after I died. The world was getting weird. Planes were falling out of the sky, people were disappearing, children never stopped crying and they were reports of alien abduction in every country. The president was shot dead at a conference and from that point on, everyone knew that something big was about to happen.

I was busy turning in my grave when I heard footsteps coming from above. I do not know nor have I ever discovered who was creeping around my grave at 3’oclock in the morning. But it was scary I felt as though it would have been my sister or my brother but that couldn’t be possible, they would be asleep at this time. I felt the oxygen coming in a bit more and me being able to move more freely. I knew then that someone was digging and digging and digging the dirt off the top of my grave. Then that’s when I heard a creaking noise; and I was certain, someone was breaking into my coffin. It was a man who, a part from smelling like cheese, had crazy hair. He said things in a language I was sure was from Africa then poured a liquid from a phial over my body. He replaced the coffin top, re-earthed me then left without hesitation. Over night I moved and shook then found out I had the ability to move my hands and legs. And I was no longer in my head I could actually make noises and sounds from my mouth. With great excitement I knew that I was alive and broke out of my coffin (which was badly put back together).

I felt as though I’d been asleep for a thousand years. My bones were cracking and I had a splitting headache. I looked at myself and saw what I had become – a zombie with skin like I had been eaten alive and I reeked of sweat and regret. Regret of what exactly? I was soon to find out, I was sure of it. The cemetery was dark and cold and the air was moist. I could see others like me in the distance. Could his person he revived me from the dead have done this to everyone else? And that’s when I realised it was not just us in the cemetery who had been turned into a zombie; it was the whole world – or at least the surrounding area. I knew what this was and when I was a human I was apprehensive but happy about this very moment. This was a, nay, the, zombie apocalypse and who knew I’d be a part of it? Suddenly I didn’t care about me dying or being dead or anything else in the world. All I cared about was making friends and being the best zombie I could ever be. I noticed another zombie coming towards me in the midst of my epiphany. In this story, the undead speak English. Who would have thought huh? The unnamed zombie was getting closer so I decided to say hello and attempted to wave then I remembered that I wasn’t very capable in doing so and in the action, my arm fell off. Stupid zombie limbs.

Hello” said the unknown zombie.

My name is Joseph, what’s yours?” I replied.

Sam. Or at least that’s what my name was before I died. The others call me Raaahgu. So what’s your zombie name?

My zombie name…” I said a little uncertain

Don’t worry about it. You’ll get one soon enough”

So… zombie apocalypse huh? Who would have thought?”

Yes I know but it’s awesome isn’t it?”

Yeah it is” I replied.

Sam and I decided to leave the cemetery to explore the rest of the city. To tell you the truth the place was in tatters. Buses were turned over, dead or unconscious bodies were laid out on the ground and the stench was horrendous; it smelt like rotting flesh and unwashed genitalia. I realised my pace as I saw Sam trudging along in front of me. As zombies, running will result in our flesh falling off and our limbs breaking so I guess it was smart to keep trudging. We came across some others zombies by a broken down supermarket and said hello they sort of waved back. Well as much as their arms would let them.

Hello, what are your names?” said one of the unknown zombies

I’m Joseph and he’s Sam” I replied

Nice. I’m Simon and these are the rest. They don’t speak English” one of the other zombies started making a noise that wasn’t pleasant. “He’s saying hello”

bwahahahahahaha”

what?” replied Simon

You speak zombie dude”?

Simon managed a face palm and said quietly, “moving on”

Shortly after Simon told us about how he died around a thousand years ago and has only been a zombie for around two years (I didn’t know zombies could keep track of time), a loud bang came from inside the supermarket and after a while one could smell the faint scent of burned flesh. Suddenly, we noticed ash falling from the sky. Or so we thought it was. Turns out that there were a bunch of humans in the supermarket hiding out and a bunch of zombies have just been blown up and what we though was ash was actually zombie residue. Yuck. After we had found a place to hide out for a bit (behind a bush), Simon told us how the zombies play a game called ‘Dodge The Bullet’ which requires the zombies, humans and a sawed-off shotgun.

How it is played really is simple. You get in the way of the humans and you try not to get shot in the head. Body, good. Head, bad. Capisce?

Awesome!” exclaimed Sam

Excuse me!” I protested “I’m already dead I don’t want to die again! And permanently this time“

Anyway… so Sam you ready?” asked Simon

What… what now” said Sam? Suddenly he wasn’t so enthusiastic about this.

joseph, you ready?”

No Simon. Just no.” I replied

Great so we’re all set then. And one more thing- don’t speak English you’ll freak them out and they’ll run away making the game not so fun so I’m going to give you a crash course on how to speak zombie. They don’t understand it so I’ll teach you a few words and you just have to repeat them over and over even though they don’t make sense. So, first things first – raahhh. It means raahhh. Basically. Humans understand that one. It’s a child-under-the-sheet-halloween-ghost kind of thing. I…”

I couldn’t keep a serious face on (as if my zombie face wasn’t comical enough) but I continued to listen.

“… like this next one It’s simple: arghhhgurahhh. It means ‘I’m going to eat your face off’ so you can just say those two and…”

I burst into hysterical zombie laughter. “dude! You have got to be kidding me”

I could tell that Simon had had enough of my crap. “shut up joseph. Okay let’s do this”

We zombie walked to the nearest supermarket where we heard that loud explosion from before. We made noises and spoke angry zombie and we heard some of the humans scream and a gunshot. We were entering the supermarket now on the hunt for humans. In a matter of seconds it was game on. We heard more gunshots and surprisingly we were able to run really fast. The humans came out of hiding and were shouting profanity at us. We all dispersed into different directions. “die you undead foul unhumans” said one human. I got close to one human and started clobbering at their heads. Then I bit him on his arm and he screamed “Sarah! I need a bit of help here” all of a sudden, an overweight lady of about 30 came charging from the sweets and biscuit aisle with an AK-47 she shouted “get off my husband you naked mummy” and fired shots around my chest. I remembered that I only had one arm and just as I did, my arm got shot off and I fell to the floor. The man got up and ran away with the lady called Sarah and disappeared into the drinks aisle.

I started to get up and I trudged along to see if I could find Simon and Sam. I couldn’t. there was too much blood and dead bodies everywhere. I was getting the hang of the game so far no one I knew had got shot in the head but not for long. I heard crying coming from around the corner and ran towards it. It was a little boy of about five. I instantly thought of biting him but then I remembered my brother and it all just came back to me. I stayed still for too long. I had not paid attention to my surrounding. Then all I head was “JOSEPH LOOK OUT!” I heard two piercing sniper shots. And the third? Went straight through my zombie brain. And that was the end of me.

After all the humans were dead Simon and Sam were still alive they realised I was gone and mourned the way zombies did. I do not know nor was it ever discovered who shot me that day. I just guess it was fate and I deserved to be put to rest. And permanently this time.

National Coming Out Day

i almost forgot its #nationalcomingoutday. dear straight friends, are you straight ? you sure ? come out the fucking closet please. i heard there are monsters in there but idk you know? i could be wrong. id just like to say that coming out was a huge step for me and im just one more in the trans community. it was hard but ive never felt better for doing it. for those who came out today just remember that you are worth it, you are important, you are b-e-a-utiful and you are loved and im always going to be there for you all. in the day of national coming out id like to reach out to those with trans, gay, lesbian and bisexual friends. forward them to me because i need me some lgbtq friends in my life. if you know any other ftm’s let them know that leonard is here for them. and lastly if coming out to your family is hard but you wish to be out to at least someone, come out to me. its better than the closet and like i can give out binders, packers, condoms, lube, love and friendship. that will be all.

Tuesday 30th September 2014

After school: I can feel the relapse approaching. All my apparent friends are perverted therapists in more ways than one. That being said, I do not just jeer at others or my peers without looking in the mirror simultaneously. Thoughts of negative thoughts. Negative thoughts of thoughts altogether – should we be all together?  Are we the social creatures that is said we should be? Why? Why should I spend my time trying to be a part of society instead of just accepting and acknowledging that I am a stranger – the earliest recorded kind – one who belongs to another country; (planet) an alien. I do not acknowledge, thus, suicidal. If I did I would be killed. It could be a homo/hetero erotic desire for humans that I encounter. But I still feel like an outsider and everyone else has learned the art of psychological penetration.

coming out

life is a journey. I myself have made the longest one and to think how far ive come its just amazing. Ive waited a long time for this and I wish it wasnt true because it would make life so much easier. I dont know I think sometimes I ask myself who cares ? Will the people who matter to me most care ?. Ive been through hell. My mental health went south because of it I lost friends family loved ones and it hurts because people hate when your fake yet they cant take it when your being real. After so much confusion I can finally say it. And with great apprehension I can say that I am transgender and it feels good to let out yet im afraid of what may come my way. I always tried to cover up but the truth is ive always felt like this. Always known that ive been a boy all along. Crying every day when having to face a body that I feel doesnt belong to me. I… I hate myself. Just got out of hospital but part of me still wants to die. But im also happy because now I cant be fake anymore I want the world to know that im done hiding. So where do I go from here ?. Therapy, testosterone ?… I will conquer this. On my own if I have to. Ive always said that if I ever became sure of myself and told others then id have to die. So… call me Leonard