I'm scared...

Scared I will lose my mind,

get lost in a maze of lies.

Lose the grasp of reality,

what is real?

I stumble down the rabbit hill of my mind's complex web.

My mind likes to play tricks on me, convince me his lie are true.

I walk blind down a corridor not knowing which door to open.

Is this true?

Is that true?

It must be true if my mind says it's true.

My mind stares at me like an unwanted guest, testing me, smiling while I cause my own destruction.

He stalks me daily, never hidden always present.

It starts with a whisper, a simple lie, one that goes undetected.

'You know you can sing.'

This starts a ripple effect.

Singing in the shower,

writing my own songs,

posting on youtube,

entering Xfactor.

Harmless.

With a wide grin, my mind gets to work.

'They're noticing you, they have been watching you for years, wanting you to be famous. Open your window and sing out loud so people like Simon Cowell, Andrew Lord Webber and others can listen through satellite dishes'

'You lie' I whisper.

My mind becomes a conductor of the instruments playing out the evidence.

'I am you, why would I lie?

'Remember years ago when you applied to Britain got Talent and went to the auditions in London. They recorded your voice, you're on their record. They've been watching you.'

I shake my head and try to walk away from the madness my mind plagues me with.

but my mind has ways to wear me down.

He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

Every stranger plays their part as paranoia seeps in.

He whispers in my ear,

'You can read their mind, they're scared of you.'

A master at work he turns my want to be famous into something more sinister.

'Celebrities are not the only ones watching you.'

I

try to ignore him, laugh at his nonsense.

'I am you, why would I lie?'

I make a mistake and ask who, who's watching me?

'The cult.' He says before disappearing.

I panic, what does he mean?

While I sleep he drip-feeds me lies about my life, they seep into my dreams.

Day by day he wears me down, beyond exhaustion.

Stress causes ulcers in my stomach and lack of sleep makes me question my judgement.

My mind smiles and licks his lips then he bombards me with a wave of lies, one more ridiculous than the next. He starts with a memory, one from a previous manic episode.

'Remember when Mum took you to the church because you thought you were seeing spirits and they told you, you had the devil in you? They weren't just ordinary churchgoers they belonged to the church of Scientology.'

He lets it seep in.

I try to question him but I'm too exhausted. I just want it all to go away.

My mind offers out his hand,

'I will show you why you are the way you are.'

'I am you, why would I lie.'

Then he gets to work laying out the evidence piece by piece. Fabricating the truth to mask the lie.

'You're adopted, that's why you are so different, the only ginger, the only one to get a degree, the only one with bipolar. Your real parents were killed by the cult, Scientology was never a religion they are a cult. They have been watching you, can't you tell how strangers stare at you and follow you. Look them up, they have buildings close to where you have been in the country. Erecting new buildings where ever you move to. You are their golden child brainwashed to be the new leader.'

Seeing my doubt my mind digs his claws into me.

'You doubt me? Your loved ones are in on it. Your Godmother is the one who brainwashed you with the teachings of Alice in wonderland, that's why she gave you the book. Your mother and husband whisper behind your back, convincing you you're having a manic episode but you're perfectly fine. Your mother and father are not your parents they are your caregivers trained to make you become a leader.'

'I am your mind, why would I lie?'

I try to fight him off but he rolls up his sleeves. he has one more card to play.

His many friends, the voices.

They seep into my mind one by one.

He calls them the voices of the cult.

They have a machine which allows them to enter my mind but they have to be close by.

My neighbours are now wrapped up in his lies, they belong to the cult, and they report back to them.

The voices talk to me,

An old lady,

An old man,

A younger boy.

I'm able to hang onto reality and push them away.

My mind wraps himself around me,

'Not this time, you won't ignore me, nor fight me, you will surrender.'

Knowing he is losing he introduces more voices, and the room fills up. Like a train more voices board on, unlike a train no one departs.

Now I can hear the voices of famous people, famous singers,

Ed Sherran,

One direction,

Simon Cowell,

BST.

He makes me listen to their songs, and conveniences me that the cult isn't the only one's wanting me.

'They are watching you.'

'I am you, why would I lie?'

Their songs become my hymns, I start a daily ritual to silence the voices of the cult.

Dunking my head under the water,

having a hot shower, then a cold shower and turning around three times.

It starts to help, I can reach out for reality.

The voices quieten.

My mind shakes his head,

'Im not letting you get away.'

He stretches his body and begins to type up the next part of his plan. A lethal blow. He needs to turn everyone against me. He looks at my husband who is trying to hold onto me.

He waits,

bides his time, and makes me feel like I'm back in control.

He sees his opportunity.

A military husband has to go away at some point.

I'm all alone.

He convinces me that my family is not my family and the doctors are trying to take away my beautiful voice.

My mind licks his lips and drinks in the lies he is about to unfold.

'The voices are all trying to save you from them...'

He sits next to me and puts his hand on my lap.

'Let me unfold the real truth. While you lay there in pain from yet another bout of IBS your husband works against you. He works for them. There is a reason you are the golden child of the cult, you have powers, you can read people's minds and they know.'

Before I can question this, I phone my husband and hear crackling on the phone line, I beg him to return, I try to make him understand but my mind puts his hand over my mouth and whispers in my ear.

'He not even away, your husband is next door working for them.'

I hang up the phone, I plead with my mind,

'Tell me the truth.'

He puts a reassuring arm around my shoulder.

'You can tap into brainwaves.'

He lets it seeps in.

He drip-feeds me other voices, these ones are soldiers.

I try to shut them out, aware that I'm on a military patch and they could kidnap me at any time. My mind breaks down my walls and lets them in. They fight with me, and tell me to stop listening to their private conversations. I try to block them out but I am too exhausted.

My mind has won,

I no longer peer into the world of non-reality,

I am immersed in its darkness.

Unlike the cult and the celebrities, these military men want to punish me. If I can't stop myself from listening to their conversations they will force me to.

I beg my mind to help me but he has disappeared into the mist, untraceable.

Every time I hear the soldiers' voices they become aware and punish me.

Somehow they make me submit like a dog.

My legs shake as they make me collapse to the floor.

Their voices command me.

'Stay put, do not move, sleep.'

I fall asleep and wake in a daze no longer hearing their voices.

For a while this works.

The sleep makes me stronger and I fight back,

they do not like this.

Their voices flood my mind.

'When we command you will collapse to your knees and to end the transmission you will need to go to the toilet.'

Easy enough,

No.

Plagued with constipation this task became impossible.

I begged my mind to help me.

Like the joker my mind likes to play games with me, he relishes in my despair.

'You need to make a pact with the military, a sacrifice. Do you trust me?'

Exhausted I nod my head.

I take my dog to a local pub just 10 minutes from home, up a country path.

'Jump the fence but leave the dog.'

I cry and cry, not wanting to leave my dog. She was the last thing holding me together, the last relationship I could count on. '

'Leave the dog,' Screamed my mind.

I tell my dog to go home, having faith that she would know the way. We had walked this path a thousand times.

My mind takes my hand.

'I have come to a truce with the military, they will leave you alone if you play a game. You see this pub try to enter undetected.'

I play the game my mind sets out for me, but with the voices at bay I realise this is wrong, it doesn't make sense.

I make my way home, back to the safety of its warm embrace, my dog waits for me.

My mind hisses at me and slams the door.

Peace and quiet.

Dreams turn into nightmares of a child drowning in the sea, and I awake in a sweat.

My mind stands there staring at me.

'Telekineses isn't the only power you have, you can find missing children.'

I try to question my mind.

'I am you, why would I lie to you?'

I shake my head and laugh at my mind,

'That is unbelievable.'

My mind sulks away.

The voices become whispers.

My husband returns.

With him near I can counteract any scenarios my mind throws my way.

I am not a Chinese spy,

I cannot enter people's minds.

I'm not part of a cult.

My mind has a fit and screams at me.

For a couple of days, I grasp at reality.

Then he returns with more friends.

The voices wear me down one by one.

I turn to my husband but my mind is prepared.

'The cult could have your husband killed and your pets. Don't believe me?'

My mind hits me with fabricated flashbacks of animals being abused.

He knows my weakness.

I fight him off but he attacks me while I sleep.

I dream of having a heart attack and dying in my home. I awake and walk around the house convenience I have died.

My home is no longer my saviour.

I beg my mind to stop playing these games, I will do anything he wants me to do.

'Run away, disappear.'

I shake my head.

'If you do the voices will stop.'

I cut off all contact with everyone, pack a bag and run. I have no destination.

I become a poster.

My mind has won.

White walls,

A cocktail of pills

Sleep,

Silence the voices,

My mind changes from a devil into an angel.

Yet.....

My mind has won, it has turned my memories of one year ago into flashbacks, daily reminders of what has been.

I may have come back to reality but my mind will have the last say.

My mind has won.

I’m tormented by my dreams.

Every one a type of torture to grind me down.

Past traumas knock me back over and over.

Night after night they hit me like a bowling pin.

A woven web of nightmares which

creates a dark tapestry of memories once forgotten.

Ones that need to be forgotten to protect my fragile mind.

I never wanted to leave you, it was my bipolar beast in control.

I was an unwilling passenger.

When I said I didn’t love you,

I didn’t mean it.

I was just pushing you away, protecting you from the darkness that dwells within.

At the time my mind was not my mind.

I was seeing things that weren’t there.

I was hearing things that were fabricated lies.

I never wanted to push you away.

I was protecting you from my chaotic mind.

Like a jar with a hairline crack I was going to break.

The build up of mania busting inside me was reaching its peak.

I kept pushing you away.

I was only protecting you, if I couldn’t control my inner beast, then how were you going to cope with me.

When I lay next to you In bed

covered in sweat,

I’m reminded of what I did to you one year ago today.

I used to cry when I had these reoccurring nightmares but now I see the truth.

My mind is punishing me.

Guilt tripping me over and over.

Until I learn to forgive myself my

Shadows will cast an eerie presence over me.

A reminder.

An underlining truth.

One I am not ready to face.

This boardwalk is the only thing

separating me from you.

Its rotting wood is home to many, beetles, woodlice and worms.

At least they have a home.

They haven't been evicted, humiliated or betrayed.

The swamp below the boardwalk is full of life.

Fishes swim in the murky water and

frogs lay eggs.

At least they are settled not thrown into disrepair.

The moment you looked at that girl I knew it was over.

The kingfisher keeps a watchful eye on the water, diving in when an opportunity arises.

At least he can come and go.

You changed the locks and threw out my clothes.

Making room for your new woman,

I'm just a passing glance.

This boardwalk separates me from you.

It creaks and moans when I put my foot on it, as I move further along, water seeps onto the wood.

I want to move forward and get on with my life

but I must take a step back, create a new boardwalk,

one which doesn't lead to you.

I got you for my birthday,

you fitted comfortably in my hands.

Mum said you were a micro pig,

one that wouldn’t grow pass the size of a cat.

At the time I was going through a low but when you snuggled up on my lap you made me smile.

I called you Pip, Pip the pig.

As you grew so did I.

You grew pass the size of a collie dog, no longer my little pig.

You grew and grew hardly fitting on your bed.

I had to fight for you to stay.

Mum said a pot belly pig should not live in the house.

I plead my case.

You are more than a pig. You are

a listening ear when I’ve had a bad day at school.

You are a conversation starter who surprises others who think I’m talking about a dog.

I love to take you on walks in your bright red harness.

You waddle down the street sniffing at the flowers.

Oinking your approval of acceptable strangers.

At night time you took up most of my bed but I don’t mind, your like a huge soft toy I can cuddle.

Over the years our walks got less and less.

You developed a tumour on your neck which hindered your breathing.

As you laid there on the cold metal table struggling to breathe I knew what I had to do.

I didn’t want to let you go.

I didn’t want you to suffer.

I held your trotter in my hands and kissed you gentle on the forehead as you closed your eyes and fell into a endless dream.

When you smile I smile.

Your laughter is infectious.

Your hugs let me know I’m safe.

Sleeping next to you is like a comfort blanket.

Like horny teenagers we make love daily.

When I’m down you pick me up.

Our love is washed over by something more sinister.

In the cupboard I hide from you.

Our love had turned to hate.

Your anger is like an erupting volcano.

We play a game of hide and seek but if you find me I will become your punching bag.

No one is safe from the red demon that lives within you.

Our new puppy lies dead on the floor, a victim of your rage.

Strangled for peeing on the floor.

I tried to stand up for myself, threatened to call the police.

This was a mistake.

This fuelled your anger more.

I sit as still as I can in the cupboard with my hand over my mouth to muffle my breathing.

For hours you trash the place then grab a crate of beers and sit in front of the tv.

I will not move until you fall asleep.

I sculpt words through my imagination.

I allow my words to dance on the paper.

I write to collect my thoughts, organise them on paper.

My words flow and take on a mind of themselves.

My muse is the world around me.

Nature offers clues, snippets to fuel my imagination.

I need to get the words out of my head that scream and scream.

I need to soothe the beast within.

I write to banish away the blues and get the negativity on paper, prison it on paper, to keep it out of harms way.

My poetry offers a safety net, a release, a type of therapy.

Writing is like a railway train, thoughts get on, thoughts get off.

The journey begins with the first draft, the raw material.

Along the way words get discarded, words get added until the train reaches it’s destination, the final piece.

I write to give my self a purpose, to prove I have a gift, a passionate, a natural talent in sculpting words on paper.

I daily listen to podcasts.

One podcast a day.

My favourite topic is

serial killers and what makes them tick.

From cannibals who love an exotic taste to those with a weird hobby in creating human skin lamps.

I‘ve listen to them all.

But

there is one thing bugging me.

All these killers get caught and end up in the court.

Pleading for less time with a golden ticket.

A plead of insanity.

How can they associate mental health with these monsters.

I am offended that my condition

bipolar is compared to a serial killer.

Oh they must have mental health, no one in their right mind would kill.

Excuses after Excuses.

They had a shitty childhood blah blah blah.

Lots of sane people have had shitty childhoods but they don’t have the urge to kill.

Stop making excuses.

Admit it’s part of you, your personality that made you a killer.

Stop with the excuses.

You make people with mental health feel more isolated in a world where we are still misunderstood.

A plead for insanity is looking for the easy way out and not confronting the monster within.

Conjugate

Definition:

A uncontrollable spasm that makes the person get up and dance a jig.

Today I suffered a spontaneous conjugate which made me dance.

In front of me sits a glass jar.

Once full now empty.

I want to smash it on the floor

but that wouldn’t solve anything.

I want to hide it away

but that won’t help me forget.

I want to fill it with coins, one for every drink I have. I worry it would soon be filled and would show my true self.

I know I drink too much, I know my jar was once full of tokens.

Each token a day I went without a drink.

The jar is now empty because I can’t face the truth.

Without a drink I remember, I don’t want to remember her blonde pigtails and velcro shoes.

Without my vice I have to confront the truth.

The night I ran her over.

Settled on a sandy bed beneath a coral reef.

He lies very still.

Undiscovered by man,

he has no name.

Long tentacle arms stretch out to catch his pray.

Each tentacle has numerous chopping mouths to digest it’s pray.

Its camouflage skin hides him from the world above.

Scuba-divers are yet to make the technology to reach his depth.

His long tongue can catch near by plankton.

His claw like feet unable him to bury himself into the sand,

making him invisible to the eye.

He’s as big as a boarder Collie and as shy as a tortoise in its shell.

Unnamed, unnoticed

a creature of the seas.