Mental Health and Family

My brother and best friend. When you were taken from us that Sunday morning I had to become strong and steadfast in so little time while learning to grieve and to know that its ok to still enjoy life and everyday things. It doesnt feel right it feels strange. I want to scream I miss you I want to talk to with you I want you to see all of the progress. I know you're always near but it will never be the same, Until we meet again on the other side. Your little twinish sister

The night is long during a storm.
Between lightning's devastating strikes and
Thunder's cries of pain,
Each moment pulses; elongated and electrified.
The velvet blackness of the sky is timeless;
Minutes and seconds move so slowly
When it's also dark inside.
Each fresh assault highlights the landscape
And reverberates within.
We hold on tight; hold each other up
As we wait to ride out the storm.

Hope emerges with
The light of a bruised dawn.
Like the sky,
We are battered, contused, fatigued;
But beneath it we stand,
Arms and hearts entwined.
Inexperienced and bewildered,
She grasped blindly in the dark.
With the strength of youth,
She pulled us both to our feet.
With determination forged through hardship,
I held her close and refused to let go.
Together, we still stand.
Together, we will weather a new day.
Together, we are stronger than the storm.

A rattle; a shudder.
I turn and face... nothing.
For a fleeting moment,
Confusion reigns.
I pause, then pick up
The threads of today.  
A life - infused with colour,
Discourse, demands and distractions -
Drowns out what I know deep down is real.
Later, in the stillness,
It beckons me again,
Only this time in silence.
A presence rather than a sound
Draws me back towards the box.
It's been a while;  
I'd almost dared to hope
Its grip on me had vanished;
That the power within had died.
 
When those weary days were done,
I placed them all inside the box.
Their minutes spent; their hours full -  
Too full to hold inside one mind;
Too intense for a mortal to contain
Their colours rich and dark
As images swirled and merged and pooled like blood.
Summer scenes of countryside and friends
Turned ghoulish on the pages
As the ink spread out to reveal
The images of nightmares.
I picked them up and folded them together,
Their burnished edges catching at my fingers
Even as I gently folded the pages,
Stroking them closed
As though to calm the horrors within.
I placed them in the box
With plenty of space to breathe.
I sealed the box with steely threads
Fashioned from Determination and Will,
Then tucked it away on top of a cupboard
Where it would now remain
Quite pacified; no longer volatile.
And then, with time,
It grew silent, still.
The pages' fractious energy was spent -  
Burnt out -  
And life could once again resume.
 
I stand, and pace the room
Face upturned to survey the box.
Its contents draw me inexorably:
They will not rest
Until I reach inside
And view them once again
In the fresh light of today.
I tremble now, unsure what I will find.
Have the colours mellowed with age;
The images composed themselves  
With the benefit of hindsight?
Or will those pages once again unleash
The horrors they once held?
One thing I know for sure:
I will crack open the box
And peek through cautious fingers at the pages within
Before they burst their shackles
And explode from the box all by themselves.
 
So this is how it goes:
All that is left to do is be courageous
And to open it.

Her truth is sickness
Shame transference her specialty
A harness
A wild fire
Taking over like darkness takes over twilight
Unpredictable
Volatile
There was no harmony
Only the jagged strings of a demon symphony
Plucking my heartstrings
Chord by chord
Unraveling my sanity
Confusion a constant entity
Night terrors reflecting daymares
My screams reflected
In her coal black stare
I kept my head low
My heart wounded
My neglect a secret

I am the abortion she didn’t have
The toy discarded
The bad seed
Her rage
Neither daughter, friend or foe
I was the sounding board she craved

My mother knows how to love
My sisters
Her grandchildren
Great grandchildren
Who she chooses to love

She declared psychological warfare
Allowed the unspeakable
Attempted to control me
Hated me
Stripped my dignity
Invalidated my existence
She never expected me to fight back

I am my BPD mother’s daughter
I am empathetic
I am love, unconditionally
I am no longer a victim
I am not my trauma
I am not ashamed
I am not my BPD diagnosis

I will never be her

 
California - Southbound One-O-One
Pedal to the medal, enjoying the scene
The Pacific Ocean is blue and sparkling
Top down, cool breeze, living the dream
 
The heart beats faster as the engine roars
But at top speeds it takes a lot of nerves
There’s a thrill that hangs in the balance
As tires screech on those treacherous curves
 
Though there may be warning signs everywhere
The driver may ignore them with a little smug
Because no matter what others will caution or say
The excitement of velocity is like a drug
 
Soon it becomes reckless and dangerous
Thrill seeking can make you hold your breath
But seeing someone you know begin to skid
Is a serious game between life and death
 
Loved ones will ask to please slow down
Strangers may advise to pull over and stop
But the one behind the wheel may not listen
While watching crashing waves in the backdrop
 
Driving at these speeds is a hard thing to watch
When someone we love wants to do it their way
With tight curves and seaside cliffs ahead
When mental health is a fast car on the highway