help save a fucking life. please

Hi !

I have been posting poems and prose here for a few years now, free for all to read, in the hopes that fellow sufferers might feel less isolated, or the general public might gain even a slightly deeper insight into depression / mental illness.

I tried, not always successfully, to keep it from getting too dark, and to provide some form of humour or message.

I pay the hosting fees etc gladly, and I don’t have / have never had: advertising, or prompts for likes, shares, reposts etc.
It has always just been for people to read as they like, and hopefully take something away, changed, from before they came here.

But now I would like to ask, if you read and like any of my work, now, or over the years, please consider a donation to LifeLine, one of Australia’s primary crisis and suicide prevention hotlines / chat organisations.

Despite their size, they are still under-staffed and under-funded.
They currently average one phone call every 30 seconds.
Their online chat staff have to chat with 4-5 people simultaneously to keep up with the numbers, and the wait time for online chat, even for highest risk rated, (from experience), is avg. 40-50 minutes before someone can respond.

If you have some spare change, or some not-spare change, and liked (or hated) or didn’t even read any of my work, please donate it to these guys and help save some lives.

And yes, happy? I’m one of those hypocritical bitches that has to have their sister suicide a month earlier before they post something like this, but there it is. Maybe if I’d posted something like this a year ago she’d still be alive… maybe. Maybe. Maybe this, maybe that. The fucking maybe’s and should haves could kill me if I wasn’t already dead inside.

Just fucking donate. please

Thanks, Xx , Alice.

To ensure your donation reaches the proper place, and not some dodgy re-directed link, please only use the donation link at the top of their official website: http://lifeline.org.au

Even if you don’t share this page or any poems, but share links, please share the shit out of that website link, on facebook or twitter, or whatever your poison may be, along with the request to please donate.

P.S. For long-term readers who respected my request not to follow / subscribe, thank you for giving me the space I needed. 💕

Due to..many.. changed circumstances, I am now inviting / allowing anyone who wishes to rejoin, or join, to do so if they desire, the ban is lifted.

I appreciate the consideration you have shown.
Xx Alice.

Diagnosed.

(Greeple Diary)

I’m sorry dear,
Your passport to humanity has expired,
Your access to society, retired.
You have a mental illness,
You’re no longer one of us.
Please leave through the side gate,
Try not to make a fuss.
We don’t care where you’re going,
Leave your dreams up on the shelf.
No one wants to know you,
So you’ll have to help yourself.
Say goodbye to all your colleagues,
Say goodbye to all your friends.
Your life may not be over,
But it’s somewhat like an end.

Star Light, Star Bri…

Lonley sentinel,
Such a great distance apart,
Chosen amongst billions by intuition in my heart.
Within in a sea of lights, you shine down from on high,
Seemingly surrounded in such a crowed sky,
And yet, mayhap as lonely, perhaps lonelier than I.
Appearances suggest that you have many, many friends,
Yet light-years separate you all to universal ends.
Appearances can be so deceiving.

Shine, sentinel, shine,
Lest your life be dim as mine.

Dear Alice..

Dear Alice, I’m ‘fine’,
Hope this finds you in kind.
I’ve been writing some time
To you now, and I find you
Strange but the best friend of mine,
At least here in my mind.
Here inside of my mind, at least most the time.

Dear Alice, how are you?
If I am to stay true,
Then I have to confess
That I’m lonely and blue,
I don’t know what to do, but I couldn’t care less,
When the sky..The sky I swore would stay blue,
Is gangrenous in hue.

Dear Alice, I’m dying,
Lost and I’m crying,
No amount of applying
Myself
Really matters
Anymore.
And I know that we swore..

Dear Alice, I love you,
But I hate your guts too.
Everybody assumes
I suture up in my room.
With some string and old glue,
But I’m confessing to you,
There’s not much left I can do.

Dear Alice, I forgot,
To tell you just what
You really want me to not.
I sliced completely through our promise knot,
Along with my flesh, veins and a lot
That when I cut it apart,
All those stitches and knots,
Can’t put Humpty back up on top.

Dear Alice, don’t you
Feel the very same too?
It’s not just things I go through,
But all the things , all the things, all the things I’ll not do.

So I’m cold. On the floor bleeding out
In so many different ways,
And every wound is deeply laid
By every single wasted day,
The thoughtless things that people say.

And I don’t want to stay, no, don’t want to stay.
Not like this, not here anyway.
Hope you’ll forgive me some day.
My Dearest.

Love, Alice.

Feel the spin?

Do you feel it?
When you are down,
Down inside yourself?

Those deeper dives.

The separation and fear.
Silently Screaming
This isn’t me!

All the while,

Clinging desperately,
Tighter still,
To every failing fragment.

Tumbling between

The darkness of the void,
And the bright splintering light of insanity.
Feel that sickening

Sickening spin?

Liar, liar, liar!

I write poems how I’m going through Hell,
‘Cos up close I know you can’t really tell.
I spend days getting mentally ready,
So for one afternoon you think I’m better already.
Then I go home and fall
In a heap ‘gainst the wall,
Because if I’m better at all,
It’s at putting on elaborate shows,
So that you just won’t know…
I’m not.

It takes me three days to mend,
And then I do it again,
But the laugh is on me,
Because the person you see
Is who you expect me to be,
Anytime, anywhere.

And it’s simply not fair,
Because that person’s not there,
No that person’s not there,
Because that person is me,
And that person’s not me.

Such a perfect disguise
That you believed all the lies,
But it’s to my demise,
’cause when it’s time for the truth
You just believe in your eyes
From all the times that I lied.

Lied that every day, I’m OK.

Dark. Darker. Darkest.


The fall of darkness finds
Everyone judged,
Sleeping within cool sheets
And honest dreams. Though some perhaps,
Twisted sheets. Twisted dreams.

You said you drew night near
Because it was a dark and endless place.
One of life’s hidden mysteries,
How darkness folds to finds more space.

Recursive fractals, unlimited dimensions?
Logical limitations until you
Reverse them, inverse them,
Treat them like university knickers,
Frontwards, backwards,
Inside out. Then front and back again.

Where does the negative space go
When it’s right there, missing on the page?
Where does everything else go,
When darkness makes it all unseen?
Peer into the spaces between,
Nothing that isn’t, is ever what it seems.

Perhaps darkness isn’t endless,
But rather an end in so many ways.
Severed from the tip of the universe
When the beginning was just beginning
It’s beginning phase.

And not knowing what else to do,
It just lingered without a clue,
Clinging and surrounding.

Maybe darkness
Is simply a lost and lonely loose end.
Looking for a friend.

Lost

Where’d it go?
The bright star I should follow.
The blackbird or the swallow,
I hoped would guide me home.

For I am lost.

Meandering, misguided and malingering,
Looking for a coloured string
Or breadcrumbs softly scattering
That mark my path unknown.

You may feel lucky when you know where you are,
But unfortunately for me and my stolen star,
This reversely is adversely conversely true,
And I’ve wandered way too far.

And the moment, this moment, well maybe I own it,
Or maybe I’m in a dark room,
Pitch black, with a cat that I’m trying to catch,
Whose existence I only assume.

And my dreams all sprout from darkness sown,
And I’m always and never forever alone,
They forged my last sword into a throne,
An unending game I play to atone.

Swirling in my haunted head,
Promises broken, friends misled,
Choosing one, not the other instead,
What have you got to lose?

Only your dreams, your soul and your shoes,
And the brightly coloured thread.

Once was Alice

I saw Alice in a shattered mirror,
Barely recognised or seen.
I knew that I’d been out of touch
And asked her how she’d been.
I hoped she hadn’t suffered much.

She said she hurt, like never before,
No drugs worked. No sun anymore.
She looked at me, then I was the mirror,
She said ‘how’s it feel now you’re broken through?
Do you bleed inside? Are you out of your mind?
‘Cause I’m out of my mind too.’

And all that I could say,
Was I even died on good days,
Because every morning feels
Like a spiders’ sting that stays.
And ‘though the ground falls beneath me,
I float because I’m empty.
But deflate too soon.

She nodded, not seemingly surprised.
‘No one sees me either, I’m just dust in people’s eyes.’
‘No words I can believe,
Because they’re designed just to deceive.
I can always see through,
Anything and everything said to
Me.’

I felt her pain, nodded again,
Said it’s lonely here without you.
‘Someones touch, I crave so much.
Even if they hold me and squeeze,
‘Til my insides crush and bleed,
I still wouldn’t get what I need.’

She said they always leave you wounded.
Her torso had a hole,
And it bled right through her soul.
She turned, and she became me,
Or did I become her inside?
The hole was in my torso too,
And that was how we died.

Dressed for Depress

I’ve often been to the edge and back,
It’s now a familiar sight.
This might be why I always wear black,
It feels false to wear anything bright.
Cheerful colour is something I lack,
And I never don anything white,
No sporty wear designed for the track,
Somehow it doesn’t feel right.
I only get things from the discard rack,
To better reflect my plight.

..in a blaze of glory.

I bear the scars of your forty-fives,
You tried your best but I’m still alive.
You used two pistols and magazines,
Shot my heart and destroyed my dreams,
But a heart still works if it still cries,
And I cry.

I’m full of holes from your forty-fives,
You couldn’t have missed me if you tried,
But planned demise isn’t what it seems,
Because I survived all your plots and schemes,
And a thing’s alive if it still bleeds,
And I bleed.

Now I’m immune to your forty-fives,
And when you shoot me, I will still survive.
The slugs are out and the wounds are clean,
So go find better guns, if you’re still keen,
Cos a girl’s alive if she can dream,
And I dream.

Some Days

Some days
I don’t know that you exist,
On others, I don’t even really care.
Some days
I want to slit my wrists,
‘Tho I fear I’ll find but emptiness there.
On so many other days
I’m simply lost inside my brain,
At least the parts that still remain.
And if you cut me all apart,
You’ll find emptiness and pain, no sign of a heart.

But some days
I cannot unremember,
For the sun becomes an ember
When compared to you.
Some days
All that will exist
Are the parts of you I’ve kissed,
So at least I will have all of you.

Some days
You’re my everything.
Some days.

Falling With Autumn

I suppose the trees, in retrospect,
I should have attended, my neglect
Of time’s subtle scythe, and due respect
For their reminder; nature always calls,
And she who answers always falls.
A premonition of my future
Abandoned casually by trees
Crying red,
Dying, dead.
Autumn leaves, as they led
Falling echoes of my life,
Fleeting, fled. Underfoot
On which to tread, and I,
Despondent, sighing said:
‘There lies everything,
Don’t by it’s beauty, be misled.
The whole world and all within ends thus:
These dying leaves are us’.

briefly on suicide

I find it somewhat ironic that in society today, when someone suffers greatly from a particular mental illness or malady, that they will go to such lengths to ‘heal’ them.

All kinds of medications and treatments have been prescribed to me.
Many that are illegal in any other context.
Amphetamines, benzodiazapines, anti-psychotics.
Iron infusions, supplements, electrocuting your brain.

They do so much to keep you alive and attempt to make you functional.
Even when they shouldn’t.

Even when it would be so much cheaper and easier to let you die, they still refuse.

But they have no objections about removing your rights, forcing you against your will to continue to exist in constant misery and suffering. To remain alive.
Even when you shouldn’t.

Mental Marionette

There seem so many truths,
Which one do I face?
Which one takes the place
On the pedestal?

When I tried to face them all,
They warned me I would fall;
See me falling.
Trying to pretend
That the song will never end,
But for better or for worse
I think I’m running short of verse.

I can pretend at emotion,
Lip syncing to the song,
But the words are all rehearsed,
And each line is getting worse.
All I feel now is an emptiness,
Just nothingness, maybe less.

An undefined ache
Where I thought my soul should go,
But I’ve always been a fake
And I just put on a show.
So convincingly the act
That I once believed the fact
That I could be a real girl.
But oh, Pinoccio,
I should have listened
To you.

Catch 22

If I had anything to say, maybe of interest,
I’d pin the fuckin’ thing up on my pinterest.
But all my conversations now are with myself,
And it’s slowly eating at my mental health.

Like seagulls picking at a whales’ rotting corpse,
The wide beach view is fine, until of course,
You look a bit closer, see the detail,
That’s my sanity: half eaten whale.

I should probably get a friend or maybe two,
I like them in the same way I like you.
Fine until they open up their mouth,
Then I don’t want to hear whatever shit is coming out.

Well, maybe I’m a narcissistic bitch,
With some kind of messed up mental itch,
But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch any more,
There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.

They say you’ll never love someone ‘til you learn to love yourself,
Well Catch 22, here’s a thought, let me share the wealth.
How can I learn to love myself, ’til I’m loved by someone else?
The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do,
And because everybody else hates me,
I’ve learned to hate me too.

Nothing for me.

Spent three weeks in an unmade bed,
A pounding in my skull,
Repeating thoughts in my head.
Like the lyrics of a song
Singing ‘please let me die before long.’

I’m trying hard to hold on to the act of holding on,
But even now my own mind wants me gone,
So the line I’m holding onto’s not that strong.
The simple problem with this kind of rope, you see,
Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.

Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment,
Maybe if I could control or own it,
I’d be happier alive,
Given a reason to survive,
But all I get is non-stop misery.

So fuck me.
No apologies for profanity.
I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead,
Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see,
Nothing for me.
Nothing for me.

The Galaxy Lake

Surrounded by tired clichés,
My mind dies.
Dies again.
A myriad of mortal, mired ways.

As is wont with mind to mend,
I’m drawn to midnight lakes’ embrace.
My freezing, bare-feet thoughtless wend
To every deeper, quiet place.

I forget how elegantly swirling stars
Weave such delicate distractions.
Flickering inside and out
Barely seen refractions.

Starlight floats in darker water,
Gently mesmerising motes.
The lake becoming midnights’ daughter,
Magic and music without notes.

More oft’ my private galaxy,
Calms more than ‘cut’n’bleeding’,
Regardless, tonight my regret remains
Highly caffeinated, thoughts still speeding.

[End pt 1.]

the forest for the me’s

I can smile at a party.
After the turn out, I
Turn off my burnt out
Holographic face.

Who

I can greet you on the street
And you won’t even ask
About the chosen mask
I look at you through.

Am

I can attend a family event,
I’m still quite able
To sit at a table,
Pretending to be me.

I

See the palette spread before me,
Choose a colour, it adorns me.
Pick the right one, I can be
Anyone I want to be.

?

If I can be anybody, oh so easily,
No difference that any one, not even I can see,
One face or another, all so equally..

Which one is really me?

Sugary Bipolar Low

She brings me spun-shadow,
Like a cotton-candy treat,
Delicate, and deceptively sweet,
She says ‘taste of this’.

Already sugar high,
It’s so easy just to try
Spun sugar with a darker dye,
Just a bite.

But an insidious spiders web,
A sticky gossamer thread
Like fine, fine spun-sugar,
Gets inside your head.

Ensnares you there
In shadows.
Wraps around you,
Like a sticky quicksand glue.

Mired in darkness
That clings and brings
You down.
‘Taste of this’.

Spun-shadow.

Have You Seen This Life?

Have you seen my life around?
Now it’s lost,
I have found,
The whole world wanting.

Not pages torn from fairy tales,
Far stranger by many accords,
No songs to make a million sales,
Or plays stepped out on Broadway boards.

But it’s a dizzy, dancing, summer spark,
A falling, flying Meadowlark, and
All those nights spent in the park
Laughing in rain, and wet, and dark.

Also the sharpest knife that ever was,
A blade that has no par.
It has to be that sharp because
It constantly cuts, with ne’er a scar.

Those kind of days are hard to misplace,
Oft’ tattooed upon my face,
There, in ink you can’t erase,
Writ large the tale, my fall from grace.

them feels.. (quotes from authors)

Some quotes on depression from two of my favourite authors, and pretty much how I feel right now.


” In every way that counted, I was dead. Inside somewhere maybe I was screaming and weeping and howling like an animal, but that was another person deep inside, another person who had no access to the lips and face and mouth and head, so on the surface I just shrugged and smile and kept moving. If I could have physically passed away, just let it all go, like that, without doing anything, stepped out of life as easily as walking through a door I would have done. But I was going to sleep at night and waking in the morning, disappointed to be there and resigned to existence.”. ― Neil Gaiman


“Depression is the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced. . . . It is that absence of being able to envisage that you will ever be cheerful again. The absence of hope.
That very deadened feeling, which is so very different from feeling sad.
Sad hurts but it’s a healthy feeling. It is a necessary thing to feel.
Depression is very different.”. ― J.K. Rowling


ForNeverEver

Did you ever never
Stop and ponder whether
If forever is a never
that simply will not die?
Then maybe never is an ever
That was severed from forever
And will eternally endeavour
Wherever, whatsoever,
To reconnect together
From the tragically cut tether
That was in a manner clever,
Keeping ever, never and forever
From being ForNeverEver.

Not Not OK

When your mind is broken
And the world is wreckage
Inside you,
They tell you to say:
That you’re not ok,
No, you’re not OK.

So I said it, I wrote it,
Used my blood to draw,
And what the fuck for?
Nobody listened, nobody cared,
Nobody got what I shared and I shared.
I guess that was lucky,
Because although I had tried
To express how I wish how I really had died,
Express how I hated myself and my life,
How my pain got less with each cut of a knife,
It turns out I was actually, really, OK,

Compared to how fucked I am now anyway.

‘It’s so much friendlier with two.’

Soulmates and lovers and
BAEs til the end.
They come and they go,
So I guess they pretend.
They all seem to break
When they should try to bend.
If you ask me the truth,
All I want is a friend.
My heart seems to ache,
It won’t bend, it will break,
Because all that I want is a friend.

Suicidal Ideation

Vicodin? Percocet?
Still not sure which to get.
If only oblivion tasted more
Like raspberry and chocolate.
Why are these things so hard to choose?
Although nothing really matters when
There’s nothing left to lose.
Vodka? Tequila? Fifty year-old Scotch?
My favourite song that hurts just right,
Put on ‘The Crow’ to watch.
Video diary? Hand written letter?
Email or text?
It doesn’t matter, it will won’t change
What will happen next.

Fading

I’m not sure if I forgot
Or have just grown indecisive,
But I can’t really quite recall
Exactly what my life is.
I used to know where I belong.
Used to have a favourite song.
Favourite author.
Favourite food.
Favourite colour.
Favourite mood.
Now I don’t know
What my greatest fear is,
Favourite beer is,
Time of year is,
Or even how deep the lithosphere is..
OK, I never really knew that last one,
Carry on, my wayward son.

Filled up with Empty

Hey, It’s me, calling up at 2am,
Just a little bit off my face.
Ima need some bail again,
For fighting at some place.

Shouldn’t have gone out,
Probably should have stayed home,
But when I’m empty, and angry,
I’m not safe when I’m alone.

I tried my best to fill up the hole,
Indulged in dancing and alcohol.
Maybe got just a tiny bit lit, but,
It’s called a hole ‘cos there’s nothing innit.

Lost my temper, and before I knew,
I glassed some bitch and her boyfriend too.
She needs stitches, he might be blind,
Maybe I went too far this time.

It filled the hole, but I must confess,
It only filled up with more emptiness.

A Tidy Demise

Unsure, I feel unsafe.
Former pillars and paragons of my life
Now indifferent to my demise,
Pretend to care just enough
To avoid aspersions and lies,
Potential implications of associated guilt.

The small signature attached to the bottom
Is cutting and carelessly impersonal.
A full stop to the note :
‘If you do it, don’t make a mess inside.
I’m the one who has to clean it up.’
Suicide reduced to an inconvenience.
How fitting.

Shooting my mouth off

I’m dressed to bitch, and
There’s an angry itch
Behind my eyes.
One that says I may be guilty
Of more than one demise.
Imagine their surprise
As I cut them down to size.
My verbal six-shooters hang in cross-draw,
Sights filed down, and furthermore,
With a quick-pull-trigger,
This mouth is set to go off.
‘You’d better run, better run,
Outrun my gun.’

Window Pain..

What good are windows?
The view stays the same:
Grey, grey days only promising rain.
One more sign I’ve lost control of my brain.
Perhaps I should say ‘I never really had it’.
It’s not as though you can reach out and grab it.
Trying too hard to do whatever it takes:
Deliberately remaking all my remade mistakes,
Never get to choose just which part of me breaks.
It’s like Tori and her ‘Little Earthquakes’:
“Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces”.

Blood Angel

Scared and cold and dripping red,
A knife cut to the bone,
Something echoes in my head,
‘..don’t want to die alone..’

A gentle wind begins to stir
My Angel whispers low,
“Silly girl, you were always were,
You simply didn’t know.”

Her final words hang in the air
“Just like a glass that shatters,
You’ll always be beyond repair
In every way that matters. “

fairly self exploratory..

I thought to go exploring,
Deep inside of me,
Hoping I might find the things
That cause such misery.

But what I found was certainly
No stately pleasure dome decreed,
No lands untold, or centre earth,
No, all I found was me.

And so myself and I spoke long,
And although I hoped we might,
We did not get along, but rather
Hated on first sight.

Myself confessed they hated me,
Despised me through and through.
I realised when I looked at me,
I hated myself too.

And so I’ll relate this little story,
Quite the handy alogory.
If spelunking in your mind,
Beware what you might find.

Wreck

My life, the eponymous derailing train,
Out of control, and I’m feeling the same.
At least the wreck will be magnificent.
Read the news, see how it went,
My life in print, splashed across a page.
So unremarkable for someone my age,
She lived, she died, is what it will read.
The in-between is what I need.
So much time and room to grow,
I hope I do, before I go.

Checking In. (prose)

‘And how are things with you these days, Alice?’, inquired Chester, her cat.

‘Well’, she answered, ‘You know that feeling when everything seems to be working out?
Your chickens have all come home to roost.

There’s a glorious sunrise, and finally, life is good’?

‘No’, replied The Cat, ‘ I can’t say that I do’.

‘Oh’, said Alice, thoughtfully, then after a little while, rather sadly, ‘Me neither’.

Back So Soon?

This is the path I chose,
And here I am undone.
A clown without her clothes
In front of everyone.

Liar Liar Liar,
For closer to the fire,
What seemed like shining wings
Are melting waxen things.

‘As fake as a wedding cake’,
The Manson lyric goes.
I’ll be the slice left on the plate
That no-one ever chose.

Talks a lot
But says nothing.
Takes a lot
But never brings.

No more, no more,
I said before.
Yet here I write,
Poetry whore.

Eyes Closed

The cold air stings
Like a slap without sound.
Head thrown back,
I watch storm-clouds gather ’round.

Freezing wind whips over me,
I feel it through my shirt,
The pain it brings is welcoming,
No wounds, but still the hurt.

And I hear the rush
Of the breeze,
And the roar
Of the free-
Way beneath me.

Close my eyes, and I know
I could do it.
Just another one,
I could become
A statistic.

I could become the delay
The commuters all hate,
Cos I ruined their day..

With my eyes closed.

Stir well, until crazy

Two days up,
Two weeks down.
Mixed episode, Mixed episode, lost count.
Three hours up, two down, two up,
Mixed episode again..
Two hours up, two days down..
Etc, etc, etc.
Rapid cycling is not given to record keeping.
Half a day up, 3 weeks down, 4 days up…
Blur. Blur. Blurrrrrrr.
Insanity, Insanity, Insane.

Smile Alice, we’re just getting started.

Colouring Book

I try my best to be careful,
Pay attention to the what and the wherefore.
But there always comes a time,
When I colour outside of the line.

I try so hard just to fit in,
Do everything the world is expecting,
But now and then you’ll find,
Not everything written will rhyme.

I put so much effort and vanity,
Into pretending I still have my sanity,
But too often comes the time,
I colour totally outside of my mind.

WonderlessLand

I’m not often given to crying,
I bear my grief stillborn inside.
In truth though, I’d be lying,
To lay claim to emotionless pride.
The genesis of these unauthorised tears
Is to look back over my life,
Regretting all of the wasted years
Spent fighting fictional chemical fears.
Not the existence I once had planned,
Trapped the entire time,
In a fake and broken Wonderland
Within my troubled mind.

Shaken, not stirred

A mixed episode consumes me again,
Making me a force you cannot contain.
Hypomanic depression, painfully exquisite,
Takes me to places no one should visit.
There’s nothing you can say.
Just get out of my way.

I’m bitchy and nice,
Both at once, stir it twice.
Bartender! DoubIe!
Of everything in one shot!
I’m feeling hell that the devil ain’t got.
Somehow also like a saint.
Are there some flowers I can paint?
On the wall, or any place?
For a brush, I’ll use your face.
What a masterpiece!
Crazy duality refusing to cease.

Every misery exquisite.
Each sadness an exhibit.
Hypomanically heightened sense
Makes every nuance of depression intense.

Hypomania, depression and pain,
Should never be mixed up the same.

I don’t pretend.
Make it end.
Make it end.

whose party is this?

I run into old friends
Who look shiny and new,
They ask me ‘damn, girl,
What’s the matter with you?’

I say ‘It’s done to me,
It’s not something I do,
“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”

It’s my brain, and
Though I really don’t want to,
I’ll go high, (I don’t wanna),
I’ll go low, (I don’t wanna).

Synaptic strain has me feeling so blue.
I’ll go high, (I don’t want to),
I’ll go low, (I don’t want to).

“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”‘

My Chaotic Mind

Another burning summers day
Yet through and through, I’m freezing.
The world belongs to shadows’ thrall,
The leaves fall out of season,
Like dark red drops of blood they fall,
And all the trees are bleeding.

Ground covered in bright disorder,
Yellow, orange, red,
Scatter now without border,
Mirror thoughts falling in my head.

Once I loved, and lived, had sorrow,
Joy, and everything between.
The truest line is one I’ll borrow:
‘My life has killed the dream I dreamed’.

hypomania (prose)

‘Really Alice?.. Now?’

Her cat Chesters voice was admirably sarcastic, but that was nothing unusual.

‘Piece of cake Chest’, Alice beamed, holding the defunct headset and giving it a shake, as though the broken wiring might rattle loudly, just for the occasion.

‘All I have to do is take the casing to pieces, strip some wires, resolder the connection, and sure as cupcakes, these headphones will be back on me, mixing beats before it’s time for tea…again.’

She paused, sucking her lip thoughtfully.

‘Is it just me, or does it seem, more than less, on the larger part, that it’s almost always time for tea?’

Chester sighed. ‘ Then I’m sure you’re aware its already well after midnight?’

Alice nodded absently, turning the headset over. ‘There’s no accounting for the unexpected timing of a well brewed pot’.

He rolled his eyes, ‘You know quite well what I mean’.

She gestured in what she imagined to be a reassuring manner.
‘It’s a simple procedure….in theory..’
She eyed the headset suspiciously, as if her statement might suddenly cause it to act otherwise.

He said more firmly, ‘and you haven’t had even the slightest amount of sleep in over two days now, Alice.
Are you sure your judgement is sound?’

She put the headset back on the desk next to the wide array of mostly unnecessary tools.

‘I’m engaged, as is oft’ the case, in a conversation with a talking cat.’ replied Alice.
I’m not sure why you would have reason to suspect ANY of my mental acuity is even remotely sound’.

She picked up a small prybar and leaned over the plastic casing.
‘Just like a lobster at lunch’ she said, reaching out…

‘ALICE!’
Chesters’ voice was quite stern.
‘You may, perhaps, recall, that’s an expensive headset you’re about to….pry out of it’s shell?’

‘Yes Ches. I know that.’

‘You may also recall, that your knowledge of electronics is entirely self discovered….
And you should well remember… what happened last time you attempted soldering..’
His tone was loaded with meaning.

She stared at him without expression.
‘I’m not sure I see your point.’ she said flatly.

The fire had been almost entirely an accident.

She pushed down with the prybar.

The headset split open at the seam with a rather satisfying “Crack”.

‘Wow!’
She shone the light into the cavity,
‘Look at those wires…

They’re REALLY THIN!’

Chester sighed again , sounding rather resigned.

‘It’s ok Ches’, I saw this once on a TV show….you always cut the blue wire.’
She paused.
‘Or is it green ..?’

Chester coughed.
‘It’s a headset Alice, not a bomb’.

She grinned, reaching for a small screwdriver.
‘ Well then, there’s nothing to worry about….’

…. Half an hour later she made a contented noise, and put the reassembled set down onto the desk.

She looked at it warily.

‘Why do you suppose,’ Alice said to the now sleeping cat, ‘that there are always all these parts left over……?’

Wish I Was Here

I say I’m wrong just to agree with myself,
Make up my mind then consider the doubts,
I’d start to worry about my mental health,
Except by now I’m somebody else,
And I’m having a wonderful time.
Wish I was here.

Leave me alone so I can clear my mind,
It’s not you baby, it’s the things outside.
Distractions making my peace harder to find.
In this world there’s just nowhere to hide.
And I’m having a wonderful time,
I wish I was here.

My mind’s made up like a badly kept bed,
Sheets and pillows tangled up in my head,
But it’s starting to feel a little like fear,
And I wish I was here.

Need more time so I can waste it,
Working out if I’ve a place in this.
Things turned sour, and now I can taste it, but
I’ve had enough sitting prone and complacent.
I’ve had wonderful time,
Just wish I’d been here.

‘Cos my mind’s made up like a badly kept bed,
All the blankets wrapped around in my head.
Now it’s starting to feel a lot like fear,
And I wish I was here?

I was drowning inside of my mind.
Didn’t see the ‘no swimming’ sign,
But you came by and threw me a line,
Now I’m out, and pretending I’m fine.
Having a wonderful time.
I think I’m here.

what goes up.. (prose)

Alice hummed happily, sketching away on her notebook.
She had met nice new people, and was enjoying making art.
She thought it was nice to be happy for a change.

Happy…
The thought paralyzed her.
Ice flooded through her veins, and a shadow loomed above her.
“That’s right Alice, you forgot the rules”, came a voice.

“No”, begged Alice, “I wasn’t, I mean, I was, but just a little bit, and I thought maybe…”

“THERE IS NO HAPPINESS ALLOWED HERE”, the shadow hissed at her .
“THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES”.

“No, please, I don’t want to, not again “..

The infinitely black hands reached down inside her, finding all the small fragments of joy that had begun to form, and casually tore them apart.
Overwhelmed by pain and sadness, Alice barely noticed as she was lifted like a rag doll and cast into The Hole of Shadows.
“WHAT GOES UP, MUST GO DOWN, ALICE”.

She fell forever…

“Never again…”
Falling endlessly downward, Alice didn’t know which of them had whispered the words…

The Saga of Alice Insane

She never sleeps or seems to cry,
Just sits and watches flowers die.
Patterns on footpaths, drawn in chalk,
Heedless of those who try to walk
On by or stop to gawk.

Prefers to do it in the rain,
Considered to be quite insane,
But they can’t ever see the pain
That fills her over and over again.

And she hates the sun,
Wet chalk is best,
Better to express the mess
She burns with need just to confess
to uncaring pavement.

And though she’s out there every day
No one knows where she goes or stays.
Even when she’s home in bed,
She’s not there, she’s in her head.

And they can’t understand
Why she laughs for no reason,
Or screams in their face
How her soul is bleeding.

Packets of chalk, notebooks of sorrow,
No tomorrow, no tomorrow.
She agrees that it’s no jest,
Dreams of dying are the best.

She sits amongst the dying leaves,
Looking for something to hold,
As she mourns in grief
Her loss of belief in all things she was told.
In the fairytale all about,
How in the end, things work out.

There was a time she didn’t doubt,
But innocently believe,
Now runs her fingers over the scars
That such untruths can leave.

Crushes dead sticks into pieces,
Hoping that the act releases
Something.
But feels nothing.

Takes her chalk and draws a ring,
Pretending it’s a solid thing,
Letting nothing out or in,
And lies inside it sobbing.

Regrets how hard she ever tried,
Now her trust has gone and died
Alongside her belief and pride,
That she was to be something.
Now is nothing.

Almost midnight, a sliver of moon,
And a thunderstorm approaching soon.
Yet on the pavement Alice sits,
Chalk now smashed to dust and bits,
The outline she drew, a perfect fit,
For a murder scene and her place in it.

All she need do is just lie down
In the corpse outline
On the frozen ground,
And fall into slumber without a sound,
Until in the morning, finally found,
Her body and spirit no longer bound.

one or the other

You gave me a lengthy look,
And then you took
Heaven away.
But hey, that’s OK.
Then before I knew, I fell,
And you showed me hell,
And that was ok too.

One or the other, I’ll acclimatize.
Learn to balance, to be wise,
But only one.
Only one.
I never know, if I’ll stay or when I’ll go.

It’s dizzying,
Tied to this piece of string
Of a child,
Whose temperament goes wild.
Unable to control
Their yoyo.
My life.
My yoyo. So,
I never know, when I’ll stay or if I’ll go
Up or Down.

And bouncing in between,
Never finding my feet,
Is a sickening carnival ride
That’s strangely incomplete.
So very unbalanced inside.

To have one or the other,
Or sometimes both: confusing.
Too much emotional bruising.
The reverse of a junkie
Wanting their next fix.
Not me, no, no, not me,
I don’t want, I don’t want,
I don’t want it.

What if I find that I just can’t take,
I can’t stand any more and I finally break?
My mind to my Wonderland then take,
Put a ‘vacancy’ sign on my forehead,
Sit by the marshmallow lake.

Well we always knew I was crazy,
It was never a question of maybe.
Now all they ever ask of me:
“At this very moment, what is she?”

Cognitive Lobotomy

I gave the doctor all the pieces of my mind,
Hardly an undivulged thought left behind.

‘Oh Alice my dear, this simply won’t do.
I’ll tell you what’s what, for I’m smarter than you’.

And he smiled as he tore away all that I’d said,
I felt sick as he planted his thoughts in my head.

For I’d said what I thought, and I’d thought what I said,
But now he thought to think my thoughts for myself instead.

He said ‘things might get sad and I’ll tell you why:
I’m afraid the Alice you know, now has to die.

I’ll give you some tablets, take one every day,
And soon you’ll find that this Alice fading away.

And then you’ll be cured! Shiny and new!
A brand new person. Though I couldn’t say who.

Alice Insane

Oh no, is Alice insane?
Has she gone off,
Had any,
Or taken too many,
Of her massive number of tablets again?

Look at them lovingly lined up in rows,
So many highs and so many lows,
Looking like Skittles,
No taste of rainbows.

What was that thing that she said?
There’s too much space inside of her head
Filled up with noisy silence?
With too much peaceful violence?

It’s so tiring, trying, falling, failing,
Draining to seem normal now.
They say ‘don’t try to be normal then’.
But if now is then, then where and when
Should I cease to cease being social again?

Don’t compare me.
I only compare myself,
Not to looks or wealth,
But to how many dues you have to pay
Just to live through every day.

bipolar stairs

Alice sat weeping,
Staircase contemplated.
Compelled to climb.
Emotions complicated, and
Not nearly enough cake.

Now was bleeding.
Skin from hands and knees amiss,
For every single day
She was forced to do this:
Climb the winding stair.

Upwardly optimistic,
Scaling heights oft tall,
Stairs constantly collapsing,
And down, down she’d fall,
In a violent, painful tumble.

Always the choice to remake:
Lie in a heap forever and ever,
Or clamber to her feet
To repeat the endeavour.
After a lifetime, she stood.

perchance to dream..

Twisted sheets and I’m so tired,
My face hurts when I fake a smile.
I wish that I could fall asleep
For just a little while.

Passing hour seventy-two,
My mind has come undone.
I don’t know what I should do,
I can’t stand anyone.

My thoughts become disjointed now,
They make no sense at all.
A thousand whirling whispers
Like wind blown leaves in Fall.

Now I’ve started seeing
Things that can’t be real.
Things that cease to bother,
I no longer care or feel.

Well, the drugs don’t work,
I hear they make you worse,
Although I may well have
Hallucinated that whole verse.

My soul aches, my mind breaks.
I’m sounding like a Beatles’ song.
How long until I go insane?
I’m sure it won’t be long..

stigma

I always thought you understood
The twists inside my head.
Not as a navigator would,
But sort of where they led.

But now I see that all the while,
You drank their Kool-Aid too,
And kept behind your plastic smile,
Things I never knew you never knew.

Now you look at me as they do,
It empties out my chest.
The one who hasn’t got a clue,
Should have known me best.

Falling Apart..

I wake up every morning,
And I get up just because.
Each time I am something less
Than something that I was.

My fingers’, cut and bleeding
From picking off the floor,
Tiny broken splinters
Of what I was before.

Days of endless madness
Hardly knowing what I do.
Sudden chills of horror
When I realize what is true.

My mind is like the construct
The poet Yeats foretold:
‘Things fall apart;
The centre cannot hold’.

Missing

The universe is out my window,
The stars all shine and the moon hangs low,
And I wonder where the parts of me go,
When I’m not myself, the self I know.

When I’m busy being someone different,
Parts of me wonder where parts of me went,
Where was myself for the time that I spent
No longer at home, not paying the rent?

So while myself went out to play,
I sat and passed the time away,
Where I went I could not say,
I hope I had a pleasant day.

And now myself is home again,
I’ve been here since who knows when,
Where will I be in the end?
If I find out, I’ll tell you then.

Time to come down.

I smelled her before I heard her.
The smell of ozone, and freshly cut grass.

She stood quietly behind me, watching as I teetered along the edge of the rooftop, eyes squeezed shut, singing as gleefully and loudly as I was able;

“Singin’ Radiohead at the top of our lungs,
With the boom box blaring as … ”

I stopped, thought for a moment, then spun neatly on one foot to face her.

“Do you suppose”, I pondered aloud, “That p’raps I should be singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs, instead of singing at the top of my lungs about singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs?
It hardly makes much sense to sing about singing about something, when one may just as well sing it to begin with!”.

I nodded, satisfied, as I wobbled slightly on the narrow ledge. It was perfectly marvellous logic.

“Alice”, she said gently “It’s time to come down.”

“It’s alright”, I waved my hand around like a proud performer, “I shan’t fall off, its…at least somewhat partially safe”.

She looked at me reproachfully; “You know what I mean, Alice.”

I pouted. I knew exactly what she meant.
“I’m sure no one would mind if I stayed a little longer…”
Hopeful…

“You’ve been up for over two weeks now”.
It sounded accusatory.

“Yes! Two glorious weeks up!”
I grinned. “It’s been simply wonderous”.

She frowned at me. “Alice. You know how this works.”
Silence.

“Alice..”

“Fine. It was getting boring anyhow”, I lied.
It was never boring.

I stepped down onto the roof as she held out her hands, coated in the blackest of black.
Blackness so dark it was more like an absence of light than a physical substance.

She looked at me with a strangely sad expression.
“Brace yourself Alice, I’m afraid this one is going to leave a mark.”
She leaned forward and put her hands inside my head…

I screamed.

Across the table, my mother looked up from her dinner plate.
“Did you say something, honey?

Alice?!”.