Deep inside

My living room window
looks down on the pavement.
from time to time I see her
passing by
or with people she pretends
are her friends
but she has reached the stage
where there are only aquaintances,
useful contacts to help her reach more contacts,
or to accuse and blame
whenever her psychosis takes over.
once, she had beauty, dress sense,
her own individual preferences.
as her brain began to fry
her style slipped away,
and her modesty

in the early days of her twin diagnoses,
she regularly swallowed the pills
to moderate her bi-polar mood swings;
we were still reeling from the shock of realisation
that there was nothing anyone would do
about the atypical autism,
and she said she didn’t want
to be the crazy woman
that people stare at in the street.
but that is what my lovely one
has become.

she’s given up the anti-psychotics.
now she sticks with heroin and amphetamines.
she’s lost all grip on self-preservation.
her addictions are expensive,
but even now, grey skinned and anorexic,
she has ways to make a buck.
three years ago she got wise;
good advertising is the secret,
professional, promising discretion.
it’s the one thing she gets right.
I imagine her clients are horrified
when they see what they have hired,
and there’s little possibility of repeat custom,
particularly at that extortionate price.

She is my offspring,
and it may seem disrespectful to speak of her this way,
but please understand addiction has taken her
and she was sick anyway.
sometimes I wonder if my little girl
still exists inside that ravaged frame.
but like the child in the Exorcist,
taken over by a sadistic Devil,
in my heart I know she’s
struggling, deep inside.

Most of the time,
I long for my daughter’s recovery.
but in less selfish moments
I wish her eternal peace,
no matter how painful that will be for me.
I tell myself she is beyond feeling,
but I know it isn’t true.
her only escape from utter misery
is to switch off the signals to the brain,
or to rant and rage,
to rail against the world and its family.

there is nothing I can do to help her.
even offering her my love, which I must,
doesn’t alleviate her pain, or mine.
It simply clicks a switch in her brain,
making her more angry,
and yet more insane.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Author: janebasilblog

Jane sits around and writes a bit, then she does some other stuff, then she sits around and writes a bit more, then she eats something. Sometimes, at night, she goes to bed.

16 thoughts on “Deep inside”

      1. WP unfollowed me from everyone no idea at all why but I’m obviously readding. Darn WP gremlins


      2. Oh tell me about it! I have had so many problems with WORSTPress! I am glad you were permitted by the devils to see it! 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

    1. When I contact Laura, she either ignores me, or exposes her scars and tells me fictionalised tales of how they came to be, and I don’t know whether or not she believes her lies, but I know that the demons are all inside her head, and she has inflicted the wounds on herself. So I try to get help for her, take her to EU or the doctor. That’s when she gets angry, when she sees that I don’t believe her. It breaks my heart that all I can do is write poetry. How does that help her?

      Liked by 1 person

      1. A policewoman I was in close contact with a while ago said that she hoped Laura would be found unconscious, or have an acident which put her in hospital for a couple of months. It sounds cruel, but I think she’s right.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Just so you know, no one wants to live the way she is living. I have lived the way she is and it is awful. She just doesn’t know how to get out. It would be hard enough if she didn’t suffer from the mental issues that she faces. What State do you live in? In Kentucky we have a law called Casey’s Law and even if the person is over 18 a loved one or even friend can petition the court and ask for mandatory rehab for up to one year. You must show they are endangering themselves. That is easy to do with heroin. If the addict doesn’t agree to go they must do jail time. Either way, they are off the streets and hopefully clean for a year. You are like a wordsmith. It is inspiring. Be sure to read Mom, it’s not your fault on my blog. It is an actual letter I gave to my mom the day it was posted.

    I look forward to talking to you more and reading your beautiful words.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I live in the UK, and our Government would happily let addicts rot. She can’t get rehab unless she engages regularly with the drugs services, and she can’t be relied to do that as she’s in psychosis a lot of the time. The health services don’t like sectioning addicts under the mental health act because she’s an addict. Her mental health was an issue before the addiction, and she didn’t get the help she needed then.
      If an addict habitually commits crimes, they may be offered rehab as an alternative to prison. It’s very rare, but more common with women.
      Thank you for reading my posts and commenting so sincerely – it means a lot to me. We can’t do anything if we don’t work together.
      BTW, the only comments of mine that you have found have been the ones under my posts – I still can’t see my comments about your blog – which I’m very impressed with, by the way. You probably already know there aren’t many blogs dedicated to Opiate addiction. Talking about it takes guts, and I admire you.
      I’m off to read Mom, it’s not your fault now.


      1. It was perfect, and it must have been painful for you.
        Has nobody ever told you that you have a natural gift for writing? I see poetic flow in a lot of your prose, and in places it’s truly beautiful. Do you know you’re doing that?
        I wish I could go to your posts and give examples…


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