Do you ever think of verses,
While you're brushing your teeth?
Then repeat them inside your head,
As if you're counting sheep?
You rush into your room,
And scribble the lines down.
Do you?
I do.

Do you ever think of things to say,
Not caring if it wants to be heard?
You just get some thoughts together.
Then you pick at some of the words.
And In this wonderful world,
You have the choice to be silent,
While shouting out your emotions.
You don't have to like talking.
You just write things down.
Poetry it becomes.
Soulfully yours and meaningful to more than one.

The poems might just come to you.
Or you might have to think.
But however you come up with it,
You'll be making beauty.
You'll be an artist in control.

Wouldn't we all love to know,
That through this we have power.
The ability to gather thoughts,
And turn them into flowing poems.
That our words can be effective.
That they don't just comfort us.
If we knew they made others feel things,
Relate or understand.
Well that would be fantastic.
That's what we all want to hear.
To be told someone's enjoyed it,
Or that it made them shed a tear.
Knowing that someone understood.
That someone's complimenting how you use words.
It's an amazing feeling.
Especially when poetry's what your so close to.
You owe it all the world.
So someone's compliment,
Would brighten up your days.

If you are a poet,
Then you might understand this.
But we are all different.
We understand different things.
What one could write,
Others may not be able to read.

This was all stupid
All for nothing
If this is some kind of realisation
Then it isn't very nice
And you aren't being very kind
So instead of being destroyed
I should really realise
That this foolish wish less dream needs to end
Everything I thought of him
Can be thrown away in the bin
I have admitted I'm starting to move on
But when I say that it feels like
It won't actually be true
Sometimes I don't even know
If I want to end this here
But I do
Because I need this for me
I used to think this would be for him
Now I just want it for myself
I need to have my own life
Not be crowded with those thoughts
This so called realisation
Might feel weird right now
But even if it starts to hurt
It can't hurt near as much
I just feel foolish for all I thought
All it didn't come to be
Everything then now seems stupid
Pointless and a catastrophe
Yes sometimes I liked the pain
It became too much
I know I'm better off this way
I'm hoping this realisation will sink in
However I don't even know
If it's actually happening
You could call it
Looking through clouded glass
That you can't turn clear
Not yet but you're hoping soon
This does come with loads of things
What the final question is
Is if I've realised
Then the second would be
Why this even affected me in the first place
Well I guess we'll never know
Maybe it was my heads way
Of getting over past things
Well now that's done
Maybe this is too
But what if it's just another spiralling cue

It seems my body succumbed to all these feelings,
Helpless but breathing.
I shake and **** -
Made everyone confused,
Then I struggled to reach,
Not even able to get a drink.
What they said was seizures.

Seizures usually stop though:
It's day 34 now.
Next I wasn't able to walk,
Do you know what it feels like
For your body to just give up?
Collapsing is now regular,
Sometimes my whole body won't move
And currently as I write this,
Sitting up is a joke too.

Psychological seizures -
Last longer than usual
Yet can mimic epilepsy.
All the tests back normal,
Except from the ones which take weeks.
In my head, really?
That's basically what they said.

Now at a specialist talking therapy session,
For 'exactly what I have'
They told me:
You can't separate the mind and body.
The thing I like that they said most
Is that the physical symptoms are real,
That I'm NOT making them up.

However, I still don't appreciate when they tell me "this is good".
You see, they act like because it's not caused physiologically:
It's much easier to fix.
At the hospital: "I'm confident this will just stop
And probably won't come back."
Here I am still counting days,
I was in hospital for 3,
The 34 does not include the first week of milder ones,
One month till my exams
And actually it's just under that,
I count the minutes I can attempt to revise for.
I recognise the month I missed when I finally became productive,
Now I don't have a choice.
The teachers compliment how well I'm doing,
But they don't see me
Lying on the floor at home,
Pushing and willing my muscles to set me back up,
Whilst going
Absolutely nowhere.

My great Granny is way more capable than me.
Do you understand how embarrassing and berating it is,
When the paramedics come for the second time within a week or two,
Just to tell you quite simply:
"There is nothing medically wrong with you"?
"You're breathing is perfect,
Oxygen 100%"
"Does she have social anxiety"
-One of the first things that he said.
Can you guess how many anxiety attacks I've had?
Enough to be sure I'd recognise them by now.
"I wasn't anxious" I told them,
Desperate to be heard,
But as soon as they know about your mental health,
Nothing ever matters.

It's true that you take independence for granted,
Until it's taken away from you.
I don't think I've ever wanted to leave the house so much,
Than when I physically couldn't exit for
Just about a month.
I don't like burdening my family and friends,
It doesn't matter how they assure me
Either way I'm still dependently relying on them.

Although this does have one benefit
And some of it does make sense;
There are things I haven't been wanting to do,
By this it means that I can't do them.
Putting this open and honestly:
It's a potential get out of jail free card.
This way not doing it wouldn't be my fault,
Because I am physically unable.
That makes sense that it's psychological.
Another thing I tried to disprove it with was that,
"I've been better lately"
Which yesterday I finally got that explained,
The symptoms come on when you're relaxed,
As they are finally given the chance.
My body's saying no,
And sometimes I partly agree.

What doesn't help me is the:
"Therapy is how we treat this"
"It's good you don't have a physical cause."
Right, yeah, okay then.
So look me in the eye again
And tell me that it's fine.
Tell me how I recover from this debilitating illness
By doing what I've been doing for two years,
If that was going to work surely it would have been prevented?
People with a physical diagnosis receive physical help.
But what about me,
Do I just fall through the system's gap?
What happens when I can't walk,
When I fall off my bed from lying flat?
If I had a broken leg they'd give me crutches,
I get an "it will go away soon but it's impossible for us to say when".

If there's anything you take away from this,
Then it should be that:
One. It isn't just in my head.
Two. I am not in control of what's happening.
Three. It may be a conversion disorder but it's no less real.
Four. The last point states the fact that it causes PHYSICAL symptoms.

If I want to tell the whole truth then I have:
Non-Epileptic Attack Disorder,
A movement disorder causing seizures often looking like epileptic fits.
The truth I will give (probably) most people:
I have seizures which are not caused by epilepsy,
Which makes me shake and collapse
And if I'm feeling generous I might add another symptom on,
Because the longer this has lasted,
The more there are that come.

How to find an absent parent:
Step one: mention it to family,
Listen to them tell you how ****** up that person is.
The third step is: believe them.

Four: you get through your childhood and into being a teenager,
Also classified as a troubled youth,
Because, come on, no one gets to eighteen having escaped being mentally *******.

Step five, this is where it gets messy.
This day was always going to come,
It's the day you considered looking, you make a start of it too.

The sixth comes slowly,
Maybe a year later after things have finally calmed down
In this complex situation,
You get some kind of response.

Number seven, you start to question things.
Eight: now you question everything.
You officially realise almost everyone is a liar.

Nine, someone else comes along to make you confused,
You conflict yourself so much as if it's good news.
Ten is where you welcome back the mixed emotions you've had the whole way through,
Except now they're amplified by tenfold,
Have fun getting through!

Eleven: you get some answers that half work to your advantage,
Yet still tell you absolutely nothing,
And now you're back to how you felt before;
Longing for the opposite outcome;
To have someone that cares.

Step twelve is where you're at right now,
You're absolutely horrified,
Do you look once more,
Open your soul up to people,
So that they can tear it up again?
Ask if you can become their slave,
So that you get the chance to feel their mass rejection of you?

This whole way through,
You question, do you want to know who made you?
Are you really sure that you want to find out what disgusting genes exist within you?

I am clearly just completely mental,
Just delusive,
Just outcast from society,
Just me;

I'm the the quiet girl
Who you don't ever hear speak,
Looking scared of the world,
Alone in every corner that she's been to.

It’s not every second of the day that I want to be bitter
And don’t say I’m not because I know I am, I admit it,
And it’s a colossal amount of seconds that I don’t care about being bitter,
But it isn’t all of them.
Not really.

"I must admit I've really missed you."
She whispers, speaking to her imagination.
A lonely room, a quiet girl
And a world full of wonderland.

"Why can't you be here, please?" She sobs secretly into her pillow,
Tempted to ask God if the sorrow will ever end,
Will it go away?
Her nightly prayers she saves for other questions.

"I really need you." She confesses,
But she's talking to herself.

Take me away
Away from me
Away from society
Away from everyone
For my thoughts are true
They make me self conscious
They make me scared
And They make me stressed too

There's no cure for this
For nothing is wrong
Nothing ever has been
And nothing will be

So I'll put on a happy face
Pretend to be strong
And enjoy myself
When I'm with my friends
But on my own
The dark Comes to get me
My self hatred comes out to play
It never went
It's always there
But it has more fun
When I'm alone here

I should be alone
Can I just stay here
And never come out
Too scared to look at myself
Too scared to let others see
But they'll never know
The way that I feel
How much pain is caused daily
And all by me

For I am this pain
It is caused by me
For after all it is my fault you see
I don't want help
I don't want to talk
I don't need your permission
Or sorry-ful looks
You don't need to know
It's my secret you see

No one will know
What it is to be me
Nor do you want to
So be grateful you don't
Nothing will happen
For I am too weak
I can't do anything
No matter how much I over think
I wish that I could
If I could I would

Everyone else seems to do it so effortlessly
While I can't do it at all
It's all in my head
I guess I could say
However this is nothing at all
It's only thoughts
Never actions

I don't care what you think
Or what you think you know
For you know nothing
And that's how it goes

Tell me not to speak
But I never seem to listen,
I make the same mistakes and the same mistakes, I guess hoping I am forgiven.

I should have been quiet,
I should have obeyed what I always remember,
That I should keep it to myself and pretend everything’s hidden.

Imagine myself losing my mind,
I think half the feelings are real,
But not to breaking point:
(Even if I want to) I’m not screaming at the walls,
I’m not crying all day,
I’m not trying to get through to them whilst acting insane.

Multiple times I’ve told myself,
To pretend I never think of this,
Maybe they’ll forget, think you’ve slipped out of it.
I was never someone who didn’t express,
But now it’s always failing;
Few things I need and am not getting.

It's not like it will hurt.
Calm down.
Nothing will happen to the ones who run away,
We're safe
Because we're already looking the other way.

Keep going if you want to,
But where else would you go
When there's nowhere left to hide?
The truth is one thing,
But it's not ours
We escape down the drains,
Some say we're deranged,
If only they knew
It's what keeps us sane:
We run the hell away.

When I'm not proud of some of what I have written,
I make myself stay quiet and say,
That you have to write to improve.

When I think "you haven't seen any of my best" (- Marianas Trench, Josh Ramsay),
I tell myself that's okay,
Because I still have the rest of a lifetime
To prove what I'm capable of,
And the only person I need to prove that to:
Is myself.

Those demonic thoughts and feelings
Were suffocating me in bed last night.
I tried to bring you back to me
And told you never to go,
I whimpered that you can never leave me.
The only problem is that you were never there
Because you only exist in my maladaptive daydreams.

We have to hurt because pain is what we crave for as humans.
We live in a time when we feel dying is a better option than living.
We live without forgiveness and suffer through the shame.
We have dread in our eyes that we never want to see again.
We feel sad without reason and happy at just a glance.

If everything’s depressing, then where can you be happy?
Where can you love, if love is always losing?
If you wish you were never born, then how can you live fully?
And what if you can’t be bothered, because you believe you shouldn’t have been here to do it in the first place?
What do you do when no one loves as passionately as you do, because you can’t be loved anyway?
What happens if you give up of everything?