Mother…colours.

I will always remember the colour of your ears. Thinking how quickly the blood had turned thick & pooled, dark and still, trapped in this bits of your body where it stayed after you heart stopped. Viscous, oozing, moving slowly, only with gravity, to the areas lowermost in your body as you lay supine, a blanket up to your chest, the sticky pads of the defibrillator still attached to your skin just visible under the edge of the satin lined cream wool. Your highest features already a waxy yellow, your nose, your forehead, your chin, your chest, making you look like a waxwork dummy. The dark blood hanging in your ears & lobes. I remember thinking on how wrong they get it films & TV. How can they get the colours all so wrong? Why do they lie? When you’re dead, even just an hour after, you turn a horrible fatty yellow and aubergine purple where the blood is draining & gathering and congealing. Rothkoesque, clashing colours, the colours of death on this still canvas, only possible with a stillness that will come to us all.
No one tells you this, I guess youre never meant to know the colours you go….Muma

See Saw..

I gave up food and took up cigarettes. I got thin.
I gave up cigarettes and took up crisps. I gained weight.
I gave up crisps and took up cheese. I gained more weight.
To give up cheese can I take up cigarettes again?

Twitching..

In response to Fidget Spinners and his inability to tolerate them despite them being gadgets for people with ASD…

“My mental-ness doesn’t manifests in physical twitching, mine manifests in mental twitching.”

Sheeple…

Wandering like undead sheep into the abyss,
The only clouds dark, unlined,
People happily fall, unaware of their actions, thoughts, consequences.
No yellow hosts of triumphant beauty welcome them there.
No stars will shine to guide the way, just highly polished pieces of faeces rolled in glitter,
Pretending to be stars,
Pretending to be something they are not,
Toxic shiny plastic squares fall away as they dance with you.
Polluting the vacuous souls
No bliss, no solitude, no pensive mood,
You’re just left with the stains they leave,
Stains that don’t come out..

Dog..

IMG_8565I have a dog, he smells like feet & tuna, I don’t know why.

He has an uncanny knack of nagging my husband to distraction, he reads his moods and when he’s vulnerable he makes his move onto the sofa in the space my husband has just vacated, or he stares from across the room, burning eyes piercing your psyche until you do something for him. He doesn’t like being stroked, he doesn’t bark much, he’s ball and sausage obsessed and is selectively deaf & doesn’t like crowds, a bit like my husband, they even have the same coat.

I love him…

Parabola…

img_1207He’s landed,  back for five minutes, he’s watching tv, he’s still not talking but he’s not glaring & frowning. He’s not eaten despite my numerous offers of varying types of food from sushi to homemade bread & crappy but tasty hotdogs but he will eat when he’s ready. He says he can’t stay in with me tonight, not after the outburst earlier, he embarrassed, guilty. I tell him Im Teflon and not to worry….. I worry

Well Fed…

I have fed him a carefully crafted meal, a dinner of foods that can help him feel better. High protein, loads of Turkey with the extra tryptophan to get those neurones firing on target, to calm and relax. Lots of green veg and comfort food of roasted potatoes, mashed carrots, swede and parsnip, drizzled in a real gravy. He ate and thanked me. I know the thank you was for more than just the meal.

It really works, avoiding the processed foods he used to cram in his body to get hits of sugar, he is calmer. He is nearly him again.

Bye bye him, hello you….

Prisoner…

 

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My husband is a prisoner,

a prisoner in our home,

a prisoner in his head,

a prisoner in our relationship,

a prisoner in his family,

a prisoner in life.

He wants so much to be free but the longer he’s a prisoner the less able to reach freedom he is.