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alfredo3


Member

Posted Thu Nov 3rd, 2011 12:35am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

One of my last email conversations with Katy-Sara, which she had started, was about the following problems that I express on the following link: http://alfredo123.wordpress.com/2011/11/02/about-mental-health-stigma/

We were talking about how helpful it is for celebrities to come out and disclose their mental illness. Yes, this is very helpful but not enough. And at the link I explain why, an argument with which Katy-Sara was in agreement with

I know how to fall asleep...
I am learning how to fall awake...

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A-MC


Member

Posted Thu Nov 3rd, 2011 2:11am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Hello everyone on here. I am a newbie and have never done Forum chat before so please hang in there with me if I get it wrong! I'll keep it short as I know so many people have their stories to tell. I do not have to deal with manic depression but I do have to work my way through what can be severe depression on a regular basis. My admiration for Stephen in all his guises and his very courageous addressing of depressive illness is what led me here. I hope I can be accepted. It is very difficult to open up about any form of depression but then on top of that to find a space where people are just people and have the same interests, with depression as not the thing that defines them but just another chapter in their story. Best wishes to all, A-M


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A-MC


Member

Posted Thu Nov 3rd, 2011 2:26am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Am so sorry folks! Told you I would mess it up! Have just realised there is a whole area for new folks to introduce themselves! I will go and do that now. I really need lessons on how Forums actually work! Really sorry if I interrupted the flow on here! Best, A-M


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alfredo3


Member

Posted Sat Nov 5th, 2011 8:56pm Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Dear A-MC,

I feel that you haven't messed up anything. If nothing else, it is very good to have you write here. Depression is a major aspect of bipolar disorder because we tend to get more depression than any other mood and it is the depression that is difficult to cope with. You suffer with Unipolar disorder (although there are many people with bipolar who do not know that they suffer with bipolar thinking that they suffer with depression alone)
I have a lot of personal experience of depression so that if you want to discuss anything we can talk about it here. The good thing is that no one is an expert here and we all write from direct experience.

I often mess up thing, make mistakes and even say silly things. But that does not stop me from writing. I never said that I was perfect. At times I can be an idiot but at other times I can be very helpful . The moods can affect one's thinking. I call it stinking thinking. But here we all understand each other or at least we should. In fact, part of the effort to eliminate stigma, should be based on the understanding that sufferer's ideas, thoughts and feelings can be affected by emotions and our thinking can become distorted. That is why it is so important to open up on places like this one, even online, and help each other. This way people get to know us and we get to know ourselves.

Life is not about being perfect or doing or saying the right thing at all times to show others that we are near perfect. It is about being imperfect and coping with a mental disorder and learning to function better by helping each other.

I am willing to make a fool of myself if this does some good somewhere. Sometimes it is the end product that we have to consider not the journey in achieving or creating this product alone. And we also have to consider the fact that WE ARE ALL CONNECTED. There is no me or you really speaking this something that has been created in the Western world. We are many but we are one.

I know how to fall asleep...
I am learning how to fall awake...

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Reynard Da Sylva


Member

Posted Sat Jan 14th, 2012 4:29pm Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Ohh, a place for writing and sharing ideas about the minds condition, double bonus!

Larks & Quarks
Take a look at science and get into a mind like Einstein’s
To me it's frightening the blindness we can live by.
We could take raw energy and apply any theories randomly
we can build an end to humanity but discover no sense of identity
Fashioning our crafts from half truths and uncertainty.
Ideas of relativity don't help me interact with anybody and quantum mechanics just don’t help me manage.

These realms of possibility are black holes in the space of reality where time collides along the boundary of our journey.
If we can will such things to being can they bring us closer to meaning, to what's beyond an answer for any question?
Do these ideas seem alien?
As I look around surprised is the blue sky just bent light, is behaviour just a flight of fancy
Who determines that e=mc. Squared or to the power of 2, shared this doesn't do enough for me and you.
Spared the unbearable truth our awareness takes us through beyond the infinite and absolute.
A blend of presence and absence,
movement without resistance, sensuous harmony and symmetry in minds reflections, a collective essence.
Overwhelming waves of experience could brush with the lightest touch past your world of existence, that animates the difference between what is and what isn't.

I wrote poetry since early teens, now in my 40s. I work within the field of behaviour and also have experienced some concerning episodes. I went to see a specialist who told me I was avoiding intimacy and relaity, engaged in escapism. Even though my episodes are disturbing, I had to laugh when he said "Take this pill in the morning, this one in the evening." I asked him how it will help me experience reality and he waffled on about some chemical balance the pills would help with, he didn't believe an imbalance was what reality was all about. I declined the 'help' his science could offer.

I resolved to develop my own understanding of the human brain and especially, some of the anxiety and creativity that comes in different states.

I've had half of my theory published and the other half is awaiting review and editing, I can't post it here but if you are interested part 1 is at: http://mindscienceandcreativity.wordpress.com/

It's about language and creativity so it may be quite interesting for people here.


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Vampyros


Member

Posted Thu Feb 9th, 2012 9:39am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Long time no speak. The final final version of the charity tribute book for Katy has been sent to publisher's. The contract is being reviewed by her family, a few tweaks then away we go.

Due mainly to my ill health (mental and physical) it has all taken much longer than planned. In the end we recruited 35 contributor's from many area's of Katy's life.

We are all very proud of the final result. I will keep you informed.

Thanks to all those who contributed and/or supported this project.

Great to see some new works on here, maybe we can do another book in the future.

xxxxx
V.

The Katy Sara Culling Tribute is ready in e-Book form http://chipmunkapublishing.co.uk/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2326 Charity/Bipolar

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Vampyros


Member

Posted Thu Feb 9th, 2012 10:22pm Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Due to a couple of very late last minute contributions I am in a position to ask if anyone else wishes to add some of their creative writing, poems, verses, funnies etc Artwork as well but it will only be printed in Black and white.

Closing date is 12th February 2012.

Either PM or email KatySaraCullingTributeBook@yahoo.com for more information.

Many Thanks
V

The Katy Sara Culling Tribute is ready in e-Book form http://chipmunkapublishing.co.uk/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2326 Charity/Bipolar

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Vampyros


Member

Posted Sat Feb 11th, 2012 12:11am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

thanks for the overwhelming response

Vx

The Katy Sara Culling Tribute is ready in e-Book form http://chipmunkapublishing.co.uk/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2326 Charity/Bipolar

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Vampyros


Member

Posted Sat Feb 11th, 2012 2:57am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Very very important please watch then support/buy song for the following charity "The L Project", "It Does Get Better"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EUifVn-TC4

They need your help, buy and promote anyway you can, too many have lost their lives already.

Many Thanks,
V.

The Katy Sara Culling Tribute is ready in e-Book form http://chipmunkapublishing.co.uk/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2326 Charity/Bipolar

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Jake Maverick


Member

Posted Wed Feb 15th, 2012 1:54am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

BEING A POLITICAL DISSIDENT IS NOT A MENTAL ILLNESS.

I do not believe in any such thing as a 'mental illness'. People are different by their very nature, we are not robots...just because you have a different pinion to somebody does not actually make your 'victim' ill nor does it any way justify any extra judicial punishment you may want to inflict on them....who drwas the 'line' anyway...? surely they all draw it in slightly different places.'..? But anyway, to something I wrote once....

<<<<<in the form of a spam email....really no energy to re-write for this thread! (& if you see that Mitchell bloke tell him i want 10% and Ronnie's phone number......)>>>>>>>>

Hi

Been trying to find some sort of 'help' in the UK, for many years, with no success. My story is here, but pls email me back if you would like a Word Doc/ foramtted more readable version! Not making attachment as that usually makes the email get labelled as spam/ virus or soemthing...

Pls forgive my curtness, just so little energy left these days...

This is what is done to political dissidents in the UK these days...

http://jakemaverick.blogspot.com/

http://gangstalkingworld.com/Media/2010/05/the-psychiatric-reprisal/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xbp6umQT58A&feature=player_embedded

http://www.lesdove.blogspot.com/2009/02/torture-report.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=9VJpuASP1zs#%21

People do ask for me to try and summarise it down a bit, but as i say virtually no energy left. Did have a go in an email the other day though,

"I struggle to do anything else with it though. Even typing abit
difficult with how my wrists/ hand is atthe moment. Already edited
about sixty pages out of it, and it was only ever the second half of
the story...several years (probably about 5) of being targetted before
that blog started...cars driven at me in the street, randomly punched
in the head by starngers in the street, nearly pushed under a bus once
but i know who did that....camera pointed through my bedroom window
24/7 for abt ayear and forced to pay for the privelege, black listed
for jobs, poisoned watyer supply, no central heating, rats running
about the place, half starved through lack of food....never got any
'justification' for that, I do know how it sounds! If you haven't yet
try reading some of the gangstalking TI sites...

If he/ she needs a summary of the blog, I will try....lil point
though, been banging my head against a wall for ten years now! Just to
be clear, that was a metaphor!

I was already homeless. They took that away from me and had already
effectively become a refugee in my own country. as wellas my bank
account/ any source of income.... Then i was visciously beaten up and
abducted/ kidnapped. Black trousers and white shirts, but i suspect
they may have been employed as pigyobs or browncoats. Yanked very hard
on my testicles repeaedtly. Still got a lot of pain in the left one,
'never hung right' since...twisted possibly fractured my wrists when
my arms were twisted behind my back and manacled/ handcuffed...the
left wrist still feels weak, soemtimes alil bit pain/stiff...punched
me repeatedly in lower back and back of head, grit in my eyes, grit
down my throat, triggering a somewhat severe asthma attack, really did
think i was being suffocated, knee in my back then to making it even
harder to breathe...it was all filmed on camera...then abducted,
bounced abt in a back of van until semi concious. then yanked out,
beaten up and stripped naked forced into guantanamo jump suit....i
thought i was abt to be sent overseas! that probably sounds
melodramatic, but i swear that is what happened! never said so much as
a word to me

locked up for several months. not sure exactly how long. during which
time randomly violently assaulted. anally raped once i beleive. gang
raped reapeatedly on numerous occasions, i.e. violently/ sexually
asaulted and injected with unknown substances. also forced to swallow
things as well. substances unknown. it was all filmed on
camera...eithe rone's mounted on the walls or via mobile phone.

their sole justification for it? simply the accusation of 'believeing
the govt is evil, isn't it?' they never actually bothered to ask me
what i thought of the govt. or which one for that matter. refused to discuss 'politics' with me at
any time....i did initially try to engage them in 'debate'/
reason....severe memory problems with what else went on. was the
threat of 'electric shock' treatment but i have no memory of them
actually implementing that. dnt think they did, but cnt be
sure...think memory loss/ brain damage down to chemical abuse, best i
can gather...

initial stint was two weeks, or so they say...then i tried compalining
to IPCC again so yobos in white shirts and black trousers kicke dthe
door in again, seriosuly kicke dthe shit out of me agn dislocating my
back and then same treatment for a couple of more months or there
abts....

for the last four years chronic pain in bowels/ groin, lower stomach
(kidneys/ liver?), lower back, constant headache for over four years
now, different parts of my head varying in intensity. blurred vison
occasionally, i suspect some kind of brain damage possible tumour. had
trouble walking for a couple of weeks at end of 2006/7 i think (from
memory, very hazy memory now) from the dislocatedc back, i presume.
bleeding out of backside for a long time/ total loss of control of
bowel movements on several occasions, but all taht seems to have
stopped now. scars around my groin, but faded a hell of alot since.

after released, randomly harassed/ summoned/ interrogated for over a year....

to this day stillnot 'allowed' bank account/ access to money/ benefits
in any form....refugee in my own country, parents collaborated with
them and have been forced effetively to 'live' survive as their
prisoner for coming upfive years now...

cnt even confirm whether or not any of them were real g-men!

in reference to what your man says about the 'secret rules' on secret
websites that unilaterally vary when ever they like stuff/ codes of
conduct etc, he/ she really has no idea does he/ she? NOT possible to
get access to such things and every time you try to engage these
'people' in conversation they just lie to your face/ ignore you/
randomly violently or sexually assault you! only way to get a name out
of one is to kill one in self defence....what one has to do to one to
get to see some ID, admit tehy're g-men, see the warrant for that
information or access to these 'secret rules' is way beyond my powers
of deduction!

After a year or so I did finally get a SIGNED letter from the GMC,
stating they were going to ignore my 'legal proceedings against them'
as none of the people attacked me were on the 'medical reigister'.
apparently everybody employed by the NHS (recpetionists, managers,
electricians etc.) are automatically put on the medical register
without their knowledge or consnet, apparently....so i can only
presuem that tehir investigations, presuming they did any, had
concluded that they weren't specifically employed by the govt dept.
known as the NHS.....but i still presume they were employed as g-men
of soem sort, considering they operated in broad daylight, the way the
yob mutherfrackers behave and access to the kind of equipment/ weapons
and facilities that they did have access to....

never gonna be able to 'prove' any of it though....still refusing to
confirm or deny what they did with tthe video recordings....stopped
asking now, got fed up with being attacked for it! all i can do is to
continue with my campaign, they will ahve to torture me agn to even
make me talk to them now....best i can hope for it a Raoul Moat
ending.....the guy also had TI written all over him, I wd be decking
my place out with cameras to if i had one/ had the resources....but
they neutralised me long ago! tried to kill myself several times
2006/7, but turns out i just didn't have stones for it....total
coward...

as for the blog, really best i can do now. no energy to go through it
all agn....at the time i just needed to get down as much as i cd
remember/ much detail as possible whilst i still rembered it! cnt
really make it any shorter....this has been going on for over ten
years now! to my eternal shame, i never once lifted o much as a finger
to defend myself! yet! it's certainly not going to me going
'pre-emptive' on them, whoever they are....

everything i can possibly think of to do has already been done. wdn't
even give me access to small claims court- so all i cd try to do was
publicise! at least some influential peeps have read it, i noted the
liks of David Mitchell and that senior liberal democrat blatantly
ripping off my material! did have a lil bit support initially from
contacts i used to have in Nick Clegg's offics. His people just ignore
me to now since he became deputy prime minister....

did just make msm once though,

Post 25

http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/newsnight/fromthewebtea.....l#comments

all i want is to be let out of prison now, surely i been punished
enough already for what i allegedly believed?

" In reality it isn’t against the law (should be) to drug somebody
against their will. It is against the law to brutally attack them or
physically harm them. But it’s there definition of abuse and harm
and they can do whatever they want!"

as i said in blog, paraphrasing criminal and illegal are not
synonymous, never have been anywhere as far as i can tell! against the
law? what abt putting on a disguise, creeping up behind someone and
shooting them repeatedly in the head? murdering the man with the table
leg? breaking in and murdering the guy whilst shagging his g/f?
dropping bombs on children? or any of these crimes illegal? where can
i get access to these secret laws and have them independly verified?
locking up political dissidents and torturing them without trial?
human rights act? i mean, HELLO....

of course, talking like this was presumably why they targette dme for
it....they must have been spying on me/ reading my emails for quite
some time! look up those RIPA laws!!!

does that count as a 'summary', pls let me know your thoughts!

JM"

Beyond desperate here, hope you can help!

JM

King of the Maverickians & Lord Protector of the Universe

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Vampyros


Member

Posted Wed Feb 15th, 2012 6:45am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Nice one JM. Sorry not enough energy to give your post the time it deserves just now but will do.

Vx

The Katy Sara Culling Tribute is ready in e-Book form http://chipmunkapublishing.co.uk/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2326 Charity/Bipolar

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Lady Estelle


Member

Posted Sun Nov 4th, 2012 8:36am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

After reading all that work, i feel highly inadequate with my writing skills.... i'd love to share something with you all though.... this is a true story about a dear friend of mine. i posted it in the introductions page.... then i found this place... wowser, i should pay more attention. hope you uhm... like it?

Memento

Sian was five foot six with a thin frame with mouse brown regrowth underneath her auburn dyed hair. She had wise, brown eyes that twinkled mischievously when she thought something was funny. Her skin so pale that she often joked that vampires suggested that she needed more sunlight. She had a trilling laugh, high pitched and unabashedly loud. More of a sneeze of laughter than a complete laugh. She was smart, funny and unbelievably kind. Her mind was so often off with the fairies that I joked with her that the fairy society must have considered her an honorary citizen. Her utter love of Judy Garland sticks in my mind. I guess that’s why her hair was such a bright red. She was out of her time, born later than she should have been. She lamented not being born in the late 30’s or early 40’s purely so she could have witnessed the rise of Judy Garland and lived through the era of the glorious stage productions. Sian herself was a great lover of the stage, spending what money she could allow on trips to see various shows. In her spare time she graced the stage with her presence, often spending months beforehand organising things in the background. I always loved to hear how things were progressing in her work, adoring the way she became jittery with excitement at what her new project was. However, I could also see the strain between the three aspects of her life; the stage, university and her home life. I never really knew much about her home life. She kept that part of her quiet and unmentioned. I’d met her at university, our first day there together and became fast friends.
I remember what her hair looked like that first day. Freshly dyed and cut into a bob. The ends framed her face, her round cheerful face and she looked up at me from under a straight fringe that covered her eyebrows. She was seated in the front row, unconcerned by the people behind her that seemed to be paying particular attention to her hair. I admired that about her straight away and asked if I could sit down next to her. She smiled gratefully and shoved her things aside so I could put my stuff down.
“I’m Beth, pleased to meet you.”
“Hi, I’m Sian.”
And that was the start of our friendship. We ate lunch together that day and bonded over our loathing of the class that we had together. We both despised the teacher that we had because we knew what we were doing in that class. We laughed and thought up new and inventive ways, to get through the lessons. One of our favourites would be to pick a word at the start of the class that we would have to put into all the answers that we came up with. It was interesting to try and get the other to laugh as well as keep a straight face while answering the teacher. It was great to watch the other work through and see what we could come up with. In a montage to a Johnny Depp movie that she and I adored, one of the words we chose was underwear; a somewhat troublesome word when referencing national parks and wildlife. Sian ended up suggesting that kangaroo attacks were on the rise because they weren’t allowed to wear underwear. I managed to conclude that tourism would increase if people were allowed to either walk around with no underwear on or that Australia should sell underwear with the tagline “budgie-smugglers for all” written on them. Both of us were successful that day in making each other snort with laughter as well as the class. Whether or not our teacher ever noticed our game is beyond me. It didn’t matter to Sian and I. We were having fun. It was during those classes that we really got to know each other. It is somewhat strange now, thinking back, that she never really said anything about herself. She always managed to turn my questions around and make them about a movie or back to me. She knew everything about me and yet I never really knew about her. In a strange way, I didn’t need to know the intricate details. I understood who she was without the knowledge of her life. It was later that I would find out her mother’s name is Helen and her sister’s name is Erica. I never met her father.
Movies were Sian’s passion. On the few occasions we caught up outside of university hours, we would sit around watching old movies, she singing along to all the musical numbers. She had a lovely voice and was talented in adjusting her voice to each singer she admired the most. Her bedroom, an on-campus hovel, was brightly decorated with posters and made into a loving collage of faces. On more than a few occasions I caught her wistfully looking up at them. What I mistook for a look of admiration was more pleading. I understand now that Sian wanted to be with them. What little I would ask her, as she lay pinned beneath my weight, would return to the world of the silver screen that she loved so much. I didn’t miss that she was sad or disliked being around other people, I just missed something along the way. Missed a clue that she didn’t say. Then again, she never really spoke about anything of great consequence.
I introduced Sian to my love of comedy and she introduced me further to the decadent world of the old silver screen. She was incredibly switched on and understood how and why the world of comedy appealed to me. Before long we were swapping DVDs; herk, the beloved Judy Garland movies she possessed and I my cherished comedy gigs. She fell hard and fast for the world of comedy I showed her, amassing a large collection of comedy DVDs in a very short amount of time. Sian often said that comedy was the only modern thing that she genuinely enjoyed. We relished the time we spent together and loved what time we had away from university. Outside of uni we didn’t really talk as we both led busy lives. Besides, Sian never kept her phone on her. Yet, we always made sure to ask about our weekends were and to see how everything was going. It always amazed me that she remembered every detail of my life. My parents, my sister, my love; everything. Hell, she even remembered the name of my dog.
Don’t mistake me; I always tried to get her to open up so I could learn more about her. But she was gifted at dodging my attempts. In all our time I don’t think she ever mentioned her family, let alone other friends that she had. She had some people that she knew from the theatre, but it seemed that was it. Other than myself and the theatre, it seemed that Sian was alone. Sometimes, I tried to introduce her to my other friends, to expand her contact with people. Remarkably, although Sian was capable of being in front of thousands of people, she was shy when only a few surrounded her. I have no idea whether it was a good idea to try and help her in that way, but Sian said that she appreciated that I was trying. I hope she did, but more than that, I hope she didn’t mind. I knew how much she hated meeting new people. Yet there was no way that I was going to abandon her to a large group that she didn’t know. It wouldn’t have been fair of me to do that to her. She was a quiet timid, creature most of the time. Yet it suited me just fine to have a friend that was so relaxed and quiet. I was far too used to people being over the top and sometimes rather annoying. Sian settled me whenever I became wound up about something in particular and reminded me that it was no use complaining about something, unless I was going to do something about it.
Whenever I needed to vent Sian, she would calmly listen, with a somewhat bemused look on her face. Not because I was erroneous or veracious rather that I was complaining about things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme. Sian would always remind me, with a slight smirk, that if it didn’t matter right then, it probably wasn’t ever going to matter. In a lot of ways, Sian was far wiser than I was. In a way she was already removed from the Earth not caring, one way or another what happened. At the time I thought she was teaching me a new way of looking at the world, an alternative to my wild, sporadic ramblings I was given to. In a way she was teaching me. Then it seemed as though it was wise to observe the world from an objective third party and to not become passionately involved because it served no purpose. It suited my usually calm demeanour and served to placate my view on the world. It’s only now that I realise she was neither right nor wrong. Simply misguided. She was correct in suggesting that small things didn’t matter, however she was also wrong to assume that things were as simple as always staying the same. Matters at hand alter and sway, that is the point of life. Sian’s theory was to lie down and let the world pass you by. In a way, Sian taught me that the world has to be fought for as much as my family and friends. By telling me one side, she taught me the opposite.
Sian gave no warning of what was to come. She was as happy go lucky as she usually was; she kept away from large groups of people and constantly sought out new copies of old movies. She continued to suggest movies and comedy for me to watch. She still sang the old show tunes. We’d taken to sitting in one of the student foyers where the acoustics were fantastic and would sing as loud as we could. Either way we didn’t mind who sang lead, usually the sounds sorted themselves out. We’d roar with laughter every time someone walked past and simply stared in amazement at the sounds we were making, then continue right on singing. It was fantastic. On a few occasions, the teacher of our class that we both loathed would come out and shush us. We’d wait until she was safely back in her office then start singing again. Our word games in class were as fun as ever, the words becoming more and more difficult to randomly drop into conversation. Some of the words that I remember included intestine, fatuous, herpes and fornication. We’d invented a game another two games by now. One included choosing a word and dropping it in to a sentence as many times as we could. The other was to start talking about something that had nothing to do with question asked then say the words “but I digress”, in homage to Wil Anderson, one of our favourite comedians, then answer the question.
My personal favourite of Sian’s was that she managed to complete two games in one answer. She was asked to spell out the word “abstinence” for someone else in the class and answered:
“F. O. R. N. I. C. A. T. I. O. N. But I digress,” then proceeded to spell the correct word. I was laughing so hard that I had to leave the room for fear of wetting myself.
It was drawing to the end of the semester at university. so our class was slowing down. Sian and I still rocked up, merely to get our name ticked off and so we could muck around a bit more. It was a great time. At the same time as I was glad the class was over, I lamented seeing it go because I didn’t know if I’d get another class with Sian the next year. And I knew that there was no way that we’d end up talking during the holidays, regardless of how much we tried to. With her workload in the theatre and my having to look after stuff in another town, there was little chance for us to be able to catch up. We both hated the idea, yet we swore that we’d do our utmost to get together every now and then during our four month absence from uni life. However, we both had exams to get through first. One of which was for the class that we both loathed. Our teacher lined us up and said that neither of us were going to pass the exam, because we apparently never paid attention; even though both of us had received high marks for all of our previous assignments. After that, we simply shrugged and decided to wing it. For the last class we literally stuck our head through the door, waved at the teacher and the rest of the class and then went to the student lounge and got some lunch.
It would be the week after that final, happy lunch that our exam would be. November the 17th 2010. We caught up briefly before the exam and were sitting two seats apart. We’d heard rumours beforehand that our teacher had requested that we be seated apart, but had been barred because the idea of exams was for them to be completely impartial and anonymous. The exam itself was a breeze, both of us careful not to make noises that would make each other laugh; otherwise we would have been kicked out of the room. Including reading time and the time it took us to furiously scribble the word count required we were in and out of the room forty-five minutes before the exam was scheduled to end. We were completely alone, just she and I as we had intended. We walked away from the hall and made plans to wander down the street and get some lunch before I headed home on the bus back to Echuca. She mentioned something about going home to change first and to drop off her car before she would join me down the street. She carried the same handmade bag that she always did. I saw the regular town bus pull up and said:
“I’ll see you soon huh? Look after yourself.”
“I always do.”
I turned back to her in time to see her pull a regular kitchen knife from her bag. I didn’t even have time to really process what she had in her hand before she drew the blade across her wrist. Her left first, then her right. She dropped the blade and my instincts took over and I lunged forward. I clasped my hands around her open and bleeding wounds trying to stop the gushing warmth. I looked over my should and kicked the knife as far away from us as I could. She was shaking already and slowly slumped down to the ground. As I went with her to make sure I held onto her as tightly as I could all she said was:
“I’m sorry. I had to.”
“Ah come on. You said you bought a DVD this morning. What was it?”
I thought of anything I could to keep her talking; movies being the easiest thing to concentrate on as I thought about how I was going call an ambulance. There was no one else outside and wasn’t likely to be anyone for quite a while. Her normally pale skin became damn near see through and clammy as shock set in. The only way I was going to be able to call an ambulance was going to be to kneel on her wrist and grab my phone from my pocket.
“This is going to hurt. I’m sorry, but I have to get to my phone, ok?”
I warned her as best I could and then knelt on her arm. I chose the right arm as it was less damaged than the left. Sian squirmed and shouted as I pressed my weight to what I felt was alright for keeping pressure onto her arm. As I held the phone as best as could in my hand I felt her blood roll down my arm and drip off my elbow. The ambulance would be there as soon as it could. All I had to do was try and keep her calm and stop the bleeding as best I could. Sarcasm burned through me and I simply thanked them for the sterling and blatantly obvious advice. Somewhere in the time we discussed the countless movies she and I had seen and were yet to see, Sian asked me to call her mum to let her know what was going on. This meant that I had to kneel on Sian’s arm again to get her phone out of her pocket because she didn’t remember the number. After a fair bit off effort the phone was free and the call was made. I can’t even remember what I said to Helen, Sian’s mum. Even now looking back I haven’t a clue. All I remember is thinking it would be at least twenty minutes before Helen would be able to get there. Thinking more practically, I scrambled around in Sian’s bag in search for a spare shirt or belt to stem the bleeding. I couldn’t find anything. So I was stuck holding her wrists until help arrived. I didn’t see another person until the sudden flurry and blur of Sian’s mother and the ambulance arrived. By the time the two groups of people arrived it had been forty-five minutes and my hands were cramping and the blood was stinking. Flies had begun to buzz and Sian was nodding in and out of consciousness.
What happened after that, I can’t clearly remember. Time seemed to meld together and faces swapped bodies. I was shoved backwards; hands crusted and flaked with the blood of my friend. The demanding questions of “WHY?” and “HOW?” were shouted at me as people panicked. By now a few more people had started to come out of the exam and were being held back by some of the uni teachers and some police officers that had also responded to the call. It was almost like a thunderstorm; noisy and a series of flashes before it blows itself out and the viewer is left standing alone completely struck by the situation. It took all of three minutes to pack Sian up into the ambulance and whisk her away. Her mother said something about calling me and left with her. And there, I was left. Standing underneath a massive gumtree, blood smeared all over me, alone. In a daze I found a tap, washed the blood off as best I could and then called my Dad. Later on, he would tell me that I hadn’t mentioned anything about Sian’s attempt on her life. I was in a daze and had deeply supressed what I had seen. It was several hours before I remembered what had happened. I broke down then.
I wasn’t allowed to be near with Sian during the week she was shut away. I had a few phone calls from Helen reporting in what was happening. Sian had cut her left arm so deep that several tendons had to be reattached. She was being kept in hospital and put on suicide watch for a week to make sure she healed somewhat before releasing her. I hated that week, walking around in circles, dazed and heavily relying on friends of mine for comfort, though no one knowing entirely what to say. It didn’t matter to me, as long as they were there. I planned to visit her the morning of her release, November the 26th, 2010. As I was about to leave for the bus to go and see her, Helen rang me.
“Sian locked herself in the bathroom of her room at the hospital. She broke the mirror.”
I waited as Helen tried to hold back heaving sobs. I dreaded what was coming, but I already knew what had happened. Yet, I had to hear it.
“Sian killed herself this morning at 5:36 am.”
I didn’t even get to say thank you for the information or to comfort Helen. She simply hung up. I understood that she had things to do for her daughter, family and to tell other people. I sat down on the couch and started to cry. I was going to be on my own all day. I cried until my head hurt. My friends were at work and my family lived hours away. My heart tore at the loss of Sian and my brain tore at me for having missed what was so terrible in her life. Logic told me I had done everything possible to help her. Yet she was still gone.
The day of Sian’s funeral I didn’t know what to expect. Many of my friends and family had offered to go with me to the funeral, but I needed to go by myself. There was no coffin, just a small emerald green urn with black marble swirling on it. I held myself together and glanced around at who else was there, hoping that no one would ask any questions about what had happened or if I knew why she had claimed her own life. I spied some of the people from our class that had been harassing her about her hair and style. A part of me wanted the anger to seethe and strike out at them. Yell at them and ask them why they were there, because they didn’t know her. I did. Her family did. They weren’t her friends. But I also knew that there was no point. I’d just be striking out for the sake of striking out. It wasn’t the place, nor was it the time. I held it together right up until Helen spotted me.
She came over with Sian’s older sister, Erica, and introduced us. The formal condolences were exchanged and then Helen did something I wasn’t expecting. From deep within her pocket she produced a small plastic bag with a tiny silver charm in it.
“It’s a guardian angel. Because that is what you are. You’re Sian’s guardian angel.” Helen said to me.
“No, no I’m not.” I stammered, overwhelmed by the thought and gift. “I didn’t do anything. I tried and I couldn’t.” I indicated to the small urn at the front of the room, Sian’s things scattered around it.
“Oh yes you are. You gave her back to me. You let me say what I needed to. It’s because of you she had that time.” Helen’s eyes welled up again for the umpteenth time and she indicated to my necklace. “She told me about that necklace of yours. So I want you to have this. Please.”
Oh, that last word cut through me so much that I couldn’t refuse. Without delay I put the charm on my necklace and broke down. It was the first time that day that I’d allowed myself to do so. The charm is still on my necklace, even though I don’t think I deserve it. Not as a marker of Sian’s death, but as a memorial to her life.
I still hold fond memories of Sian’s life and it is a year later. I didn’t know how to celebrate the life she had or the time that we had. So a man that I admire suggested that I do the best thing I know how to do; write. Write about what Sian and I had. Although it was only a short time in regards to most friendships, it’s one that will stick with me forever.


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Vampyros


Member

Posted Fri Jan 18th, 2013 1:25am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

The Katy Sara Culling Tribute is ready in e-Book form http://chipmunkapublishing.co.uk/shop/index.php?ma.....ts_id=2326 Charity/Bipolar

Thanks to everyone who supported and contributed please spread the word.

Many thanks
Vx (Amanda Groves)

Any comments please email KatySaraCullingTributeBook@Yahoo.com

The Katy Sara Culling Tribute is ready in e-Book form http://chipmunkapublishing.co.uk/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2326 Charity/Bipolar

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alfredo3


Member

Posted Sun May 5th, 2013 12:57am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Some information about my upcoming book which should be available early next year. It is about my journey with bipolar II disorder

http://alfredo123.wordpress.com/2013/05/02/my-life.....-disorder/

I know how to fall asleep...
I am learning how to fall awake...

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BollyHarry


Member

Posted Thu Jun 6th, 2013 7:25pm Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Hello I'm new. New to new things. New to grammer. New to the idea of writing a novel.New to questioning myself and new to being open to new possibilities.I'm also nervous. I've struggled with my mental health from a young age and believed I had Bi Polar for quite some time before being told it wasn't the case. There have been many labels but I tend to trust my experiences more than the labels. This is the first part of what could be a novel typed up. Whether I will do it I'm not sure.

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It was about 3 am in the morning. Inspector Gadget, a child hood favorite, played on the laptop. I had not slept in three days but I felt content as I lay there. I thought about God, what he meant to me and I worried that this wasn't real, that he might not exist. Moments later my room became a coffin, every object in it became menacing, something to injure myself with and I was instantly aware that I wanted to kill myself. I looked down at my wrists and found two pink bow tattoos, one on each wrist, and began to cry.

I walked to the shower room and decided to shower, but the thoughts wouldn't go away. I panicked and woke up my flat mate and told her I think I want to kill myself. We lived on the 12th floor of a block of flats, houses of residence for the university. Not far away smoke rose from a car that was on fire. I feared that if she didn't take me to hospital, I would kill myself, that if I tried to go on my own I would do the same. She agreed to take me.

Three weeks earlier I had sat in a GP's office telling him I wanted to try medication, that I was depressed, drinking too much and crying a lot. He told me that some times “we need to look at things differently,” and he demonstrated this by showing me a pen from different angles. I insisted however that I wanted to try medication and he prescribed me Citalopram. I had lived with some form of depression for years by this point and wanted medication, I wanted it fixed.

I arrived home happy that things might change now. My flat mate was right when she said “they hand them out like sweets,” but I don't think she believed I was actually depressed either. That night I prepared my self for bed, took the medication and went to sleep. I awoke in total bliss just a few hours later, took out my art materials and began to draw people in hues of pink, purple and green. Then went back to bed.

When I woke up the next morning I marched off out of the building and down a path that led to a costume warehouse where I was doing work experience , with out breakfast. I stayed there all day and didn't eat much, if anything, and on the way back I played with butterflies , looked at flowers and admired the wonderful world around me. That night I took the medication again, but this time when I awoke a few hours later it was not bliss- I was seeing things. I saw green skulls rolling across my pillow.

I went back to the doctor and told him what had happened, he assured me I was in fact sane but I can't remember if he told me to stop or continue taking it. Suffice to say I was only taking 4 or 5 milligrams , which shouldn't have made any difference. But I continued taking it. I told others at work I was taking this stuff and they asked whether I should be taking it or not? But it was too late by then.

Over the course of three weeks I had lost a stone in weight, I had tried to stop taking the medication but couldn't take the come down and so I kept taking it, I had deep and meaningful thoughts about God and a week before I found myself feeling suicidal, I had two tattoo's of bows put on my wrists.

In the weeks leading up to my decision to ask for medication I was experiencing so much guilt it was unbearable: I felt guilty for my existence, guilty about the clothes on my back and I was trying to be a vegan after two years of being a vegetarian.

Three weeks after making the decision to take medication I asked my flat mate to take me to the hospital. I sat before a nurse and told her how I felt. Crying, I talked about the wars, poverty , death , pollution and cruelty that are destroying the world. I talked about cancer, madness and the pressures of society. I was told to go and meet with a psychologist and we caught a taxi there. I sat there talking and crying for another 40 minutes about the same things. I was given a prescription for Mirtazapine , told not to take Citalopram any more and sent on my way. I slept for 14 hours.

When I thought I might kill myself those ribbons saved my life, it was as if I - or someone else knew what was coming.

My grandmother used to tie pink ribbons in my hair.

I decided that I could never feel that way again.

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I understand there are believers and non-believers but I've reached a point where I don't feel I can deny my experiences anymore, however much I try. I'd love to hear opposing views though (never thought I'd write those words...)

Tear it (or me) to shreds If you like, I'm going to slowly try and read every body's work over the next week.

Much respect to Mr Fry for his work and his words.


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