I’ve gone off brief-not how I want this blog to go

A poem about depression? Oh fuck it, oh no

Not this again. This french noir dog

Summer finds herself trapped below dense depressive fog


Stayed in bed today ALL bloody DAY

Alone/connect-I hate you/don’t leave-OH PLEASE PLEASE STAY

Let me touch you. Come up close

Cheeks glisten wet. Summer’s poetry woefully verbose

So little words & so little thought

Where’s the dog pound when you need em? I want this BLACK FUCKER caught :(

Black dog, you stay even though I don’t stroke or pet you

I shout and you look pleased like I’ve just rewarded you

You’re a persistent drain. You suck joy from this life

If you plague me much more I’ll be at your throat with the sharpened blade of that knife

I don’t do pretty poems sorry, it’s just not me

Emotions are my tic; my allergy, my flea

Scratch scratch scratch, noir BITCH, FUCK OFF

Don’t even think of having puppies even though you crave it like a moon chasing moth

Don’t breed. Don’t strengthen. I CAN’T STAND YOU.

Leave me alone and stop popping up sudden like a ghost dog. BOO!

Black bitch NOT trendy nor kitch

Seroxat pills help but hard to concentrate when doing fiddly details in cross stitch

I don’t even do cross stitch! I just put it in for the rhyme

I’m fucking tired and miserable and I can’t be arsed all the damn time

I’m true on my blog. I say how things are

The black dog is evil. Will I get in trouble if a hypothetical black dog gets run over in a sunshine yellow car?

Tyres splat him

I stop the car and am compelled to go back, to finish the job and to BATTER HIM

Sorry this is quite a graphic murderous post

I’m gonna have a cup of tea now and a slice of buttered toast

Calm down summer. Get well fucking soon

At the black dog’s funeral I’ll be the one arriving with the shiny balloons.


I wanna let go of him. We all know who the black one is.

The black dog is my abusive dad. Insight cork pops on the fizz

Can’t wait for your funeral, abuser papa

I just hope it happens soon, it just seems so close, yet so far :(







Tidying the house you came into my mind

Pathways well trodden, easy to find

Christmas is coming, celebrations near

I’m a mum now myself but still knotted with pain and fear

Mum, I felt it just now. I felt you there

Thinking of me, but not with good cheer

What do you feel on this day? what’s in your heart?

Why won’t you love me?-please, it’s never too late to start

I felt you close, I touched your skin

You’re the person written on my passport as my next of kin

When I hurt I want my mum

But you’re poisoned, just like the rest of them

Your devotion to them ended up meaning more than your devotion to me

You turned your cheek and you walked away in the rain and left me

Abandonment wounds ooze and bleed

My fate was sealed, my heart never ever got freed

I never turned off how I felt for you

I still love you now despite all that hurt you continue to do

It’s times like now your absence is most vividly felt

Just like I felt it back then when my captors tightened their belt

This blog is meant to be happy- a place where I play and I shine

But at Christmas especially I can’t be happy all the damn time

I live with a disability invisibly felt

One where blood flows through the alphabet, L.O.V.E mis-spelt

You chose your husband- you always needed a man by your side

You’ve got three other kids, so one less you don’t mind

You’ve got what you want. That doesn’t include me

Fuck MERRY Christmas-leave me alone to just be

I got used to alone, back when you were still mum

I’d happily go back for a minute to being young, defenceless and dumb

Younger not wiser. Alive not dead

You ostracised the whistleblower & shouted “off with her head”

Anyone who speaks is automatically OUT

I’d give anything to go back to those times when you’d shout

Because at least back then you were still fucking there

Losing a mum before she dies is fucking UNFAIR

I didn’t do wrong. My patience was long

You made it clear in our family I was a member who didn’t belong

Today I hurt, but I wish it that could be that I hurt there in your arms

A cuddle from you is what I want at this moment to feel calm

But I’m mumless at Christmas. You’re not even dead

How I long for you to be here to soothingly stroke the hairs on my head

It isn’t to be

I shrug my shoulders knowing full well you don’t love me

I’m loved by others. I just wish that were enough

I know I’d be a happier Summer if I still had your love :(














I included this fab meme in my previous post…but think it also deserved a post of it’s very own :)

Totally sick of PTSD platitudes and stigmatised ignorance regarding mental health in my blog comments and the blog comments of my survivor friends.

Please EVERYONE, memorise these bullshit statements and be sure NOT to ever say them to a blogger who has a traumatic/mental health disordered background!









If depression were a choice, I wouldn’t be up at 5.21am posting due to depression-related insomnia.

If depression were a choice, when I’d have first tasted depression at the age of sixteen I’d have realised “depression wasn’t for me”, and I would have refused to accept this unwanted, numbing and hellish intrusion into my life any more.

If depression were a choice, believe me, I’d have OPTED OUT years ago.

If depression were a choice, I would never have let things get to the stage where I acted to end my life, as I would have UN-chosen my depression well before suicidal ideation, plans, and attempts ever materialised.

If depression were a choice, there would’ve been no need for those three stays on the acute psychiatric ward, kept away from my husband and kids, under one-to-one observation.

If depression were a choice, I’d have no need for the anti-depressants, mood stabilisers, antipsychotics, benzodiazepines, and sleeping tablets I’ve taken these past few years to keep me present, breathing, and (just-about) functioning.

If depression were a choice, I’d un-choose it every time it hits without fail. And not only that- it’d be an EASY choice to make.

If depression were a choice, I’d have to do a lot less supporting of my close network of friends, as we’d all choose to live a life of contentment. After all, who wouldn’t ‘choose’ a happier more contented and less painful life?

If depression were a choice, a painful and frightening death by suicide would NEVER EVER need to happen.

If depression were a choice, no person would ever have to face being bereaved by suicide. I have friends who lost their beloved parents this way. I observe the ongoing lasting devastation of that loss and see the pain in their eyes. They tell me it’s a wound that never heals, and I believe them. Was their death/loss avoidable? I guess the only way it could be, is if depression wasn’t real, and enough of a reason to opt for death over life.

Have you ever tried to hurt yourself? I have. If only I’d have realised depression was a choice though, I could have skipped all that. Silly me eye roll.

If depression were a choice, I wouldn’t have needed that visit from social services to ensure the kids were okay after my crisis. What mother would ‘choose’ that?

If depression were a choice, a lot of GPs, psychiatrists, psychologists, art therapists, occupational therapists, psychiatric nurses, social workers, support workers, counsellors, psychotherapists, and pharmaceutical experts would be out of a job.

If depression were a choice, mental health charities would have a far simpler job; as there wouldn’t be the same efforts required to raise awareness and reduce societal stigma as there are now. All they would need to do is adjust their posters, websites, social media posts and promotional literature to include the simple educational message ‘WE RECOMMEND YOU AVOID DEPRESSION’. Job done.

In a modern enlightened society such as this, I can’t believe I only just heard that depression is a choice. I so wish I’d have been told that sooner. It would have saved a whole lotta heartache for me and the other millions of people worldwide suffering with this condition. IF ONLY I had known all this time that I was actually “choosing” depression, and could therefore deselect it…..What a difference it could have made to the last NINETEEN YEARS!





This post was inspired, [if that is the right word], by a fellow blogger who left a comment on this MENTAL HEALTH BLOG– WRITTEN BY A MENTAL HEALTH BLOGGER WITH A DUAL DIAGNOSIS OF BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER AND POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER that I should “CHOOSE not to be depressed”

Needless to say, I was not massively impressed by this thoughtless and insensitive remark.


I have titled this post #If depression were a choice, and am hoping you might try your own version of this post. If depression were a choice, how in your mind might life be different? I can’t wait to see what you come up with.

I personally believe bloggers can do a great deal in terms of shifting attitudes; that is if like-minded people like us blog in unison. The more people who join in this ANTI-STIGMA series of posts on blogs and social media, the more the anti-stigma message can infiltrate out across the virtual world.

My personal favourite #if depression were a choice line, came from a personal friend of mine with Bipolar Disorder [in the midst of a severe depressive disorder] who absolutely nailed it when he said, very simply…

“If depression were a choice, then I have awful taste”. DH.

summerSHINES ©