OCD, Anxiety, Depression, and other reasons I am not an Astronaut: Part 4

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In no particular order:

I am venting

I hated school. Teachers were useless. I mean really useless. I still have a slight chip on my shoulder about teachers, even now. Which is silly I know but it is something I cant get passed. My fiancé has recently become friends with one through her gym and every time she talks about her I just know when I do eventually meet her I will instinctively lean back on my chair and want to use a ruler to flick stuff at her.

I also get irritated by people who say “school years were the best years of my life”. Get a grip. I put these people into the same category of people I dont fully trust, like the “I dont like star wars” types, or vegetarians (my future wife is a vegetarian which I haven’t fully come to terms with, I fear I never will). Or people who use the word “fun” to describe something, “hey cmon it’ll be fun” it never is, it just never is, and now because you have used the F word I will make it my mission not to enjoy it.

Since when did it all become Instagram, Trump and fucking Kardashians?

Why am I sat here writing all this bollocks?

Because I am 33 today and my wonderful soul mate and best friend tried her best to make me happy, as she always does, and I just couldn’t be, not even for one day, which would had have made her happy seeing me happy. I know she understands, but it is not fair, she shouldn’t be living with a shell of a man.

I am in a slump, I feel like a ton of bricks and I am very sad. I hate myself because I feel she is wasting her time on a lost cause. I know that sounds a bit pathetic or self pitying but that’s the truth. Through years of mental health problems I have pushed away friends and loved ones, not because I dont care for them but I just dont understand them and “it all”. I feel out of sync with everyone else.

I am angry at myself for falling apart, I am angry at this whole “its ok to not be ok” brigade, it should read “now social media has made it in vouge to have mental health problems so now we accept you” I didn’t need your acceptance then and I couldn’t care less if I have it now, the same people who would of once mocked me now accept it because it is on fucking Instagram etc. Piss off.

It is not ok to not to be ok. Life wont care if you are ok or not. So we have to fake it.

it is not ok for my fiancé me not being ok. I need and want to be ok for her, for us, because if I am not ok she will not be ok. So that is not ok.

It is not ok to make people feel they can speak about problems if the health services cannot accommodate them. May as well of stayed how it was.

And finally, I am not ok with not being ok. So stop telling me it is ok.

I have nothing else to say, I am just angry.

I am going to go to bed now, wake up, feel a bit silly and probably delete this post.

 

 

 

OCD, Anxiety, Depression, and other reasons I am not an Astronaut: Part III

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In no particular order:

I remember at a young age my need for routine was ingrained, part of my fibre and core. My Mum tells me she recalls an incident at pre school where my classroom had been moved to a different part of the school and I completely flipped. In a way I am still the same now.

Today for example, my fiancé moved a shoe rack and put it under the stairs instead of downstairs in its home, where it lived and by being downstairs kept the universe in perfect sync. Ok, I didn’t flip out, but I was very concerned for a good half an hour. ‘What if I can’t access my shoes as easy as I could before?’ and other questions of a similar nature circulated my mind until the next thing to be concerned about came into play.

I think that’s how mental health issues can be, in my case I am fuelled by anxiety, which stokes the flames of my OCD which once burnt out makes me depressed, and I am left as just some pile of smoking ash, just about warm but nearly dead (cheery).

I need to get back into my training properly, I enjoyed boxing, I enjoyed running, and I enjoyed the gym. But that is what mental health problems do, take away what you love. I feel in some senses I am still a bit broken, a bit beaten. Since my breakdown in 2017 I feel like a veil has been lifted and I see through different eyes but at the same time the ball and chain weighs just as heavy. I am just very tired all the time.  I need to admit the problem is still there and not see it as failure.

 

(image sourced from Google)

 

Book Now Available

Book Cover Idea 5

After many weeks of frustration, perfectionism and recent reluctant compromise, I have finally got together  kindle/paperback versions of my book that I am happy with. Kindle is available on Amazon now for 0.99p and contains some of my personal favourites. Paperback is available at £4.50 (I get £1 from that) I know it is a bit more expensive but anything less seemed pointless.

Thank you to everyone who has commented on my poetry in such a positive way on this blog, it has given me a platform to write and self publish my work and get it out there to a wider audience. (if it pays for a new couch in the meantime that would be a bonus)

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=words+from+an+unlikely+poet&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Awords+from+an+unlikely+poet

Cheers

 

Coming Morn

Upon the ink my needle is spun, upon a white virgin crest,
Spun from heart and tattered cuff,
And cast from naked chest.

 

From the rubble, the hellish struggle, I feel a turning tide,
All the while, comforts the smile,
My burning ember bride.

 

The tunnel is long and you would pot holes to stray,
And though the light be as needle prick,
It only seems so far away.

 

Use your meditation, by take of whatever form,
Use it to stand-fast,
Hold strong against the storm.

 

So with pen and page, and sight no longer forlorn,
I say goodnight to the dark,
Hello the coming morn.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

I Care Not

I care not for your daily tales,

The sound passes through my worn ears

Like wind through tattered sails,

Like holes in a fishing net

The words pass through,

Escaping the sounds

The dull hums of you.

 

Drown me over board,

Cast me no line,

I’ll forget your words in the sands,

Of my sinking time.

I empty my lungs and sink into the black crush,

Don’t pull me back to your vomit of words

Your tedious gush.

 

I care not for your inverted commas acceptable version of events,

No smile will break my cheeks

My dead pan face

Frozen in place,

Lost in sand grain stars 

And all their endless space.

 

Suck me into a black hole,

Void of interest I feel only darkness towards your insipid matters,

You puncture my mind with your worm hole drawl,

As you grind out your mouth soil

At slowest grinding crawl.

 

I care not for your watered down yarns,

The slow turns of your materialistic wheel

Spun by your constant uninspiring spiel,

Turn the wheel to release the noose drop,

Let the trap door open

Let the teeth clattering stop.

 

Clattering with rusty tracks screech,

The constant need you have to give unwanted speech,

Your tongue flapping like a runaway train

Whistles in my tunnel ears 

My tinnitus brain.

 

 I care not for your holy sermon preached from on high

By the grace of God go forward say I,

Preach your gospel

Your enlightened views

To ones that would, and do so choose.

 

So as my dead eyes stare back at you,

Lost black ships abandoned in their milky pools,

I remain anchored by your conversation rock

Longing for time to speed its tick,

And hasten,

Its tock.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.