Broken Title for a Broken Heart

It’s been nearly exactly 30 months since we last spoke.
Since I saw you
Since I told you my very deepest
most horrific
secret that only few people know.

I did contact you after that,
Some months later and said things that you didn’t want to hear then
or now,
or possibly ever.

I was embarrassed,
I wrote those messages when I was not myself.
I spoke in rough, aggressive ways.
I was not myself, but I still spoke the truth, my truth.

And you did not respond.
Well, you couldn’t.
I made sure you couldn’t.

Because I was afraid that you wouldn’t believe me,
Because of the way I spoke.
That you wouldn’t believe what I had to say,
I mean, there was already a track record of that.
When I told you the truth when I saw you, face-to-face,
You didn’t believe me. Or couldn’t.

I miss you more than you can ever possibly know.
Without you, I am not whole.
And I think about you. I think about the fun we had,
How you could read me like a damn book.
And how I think that might be why you were so mad at me,
When I was really unwell.
Because you were mad at yourself.
Angry that you somehow didn’t pick up in me what was going on.
So you took it out on me.
And it’s okay. I’m not mad.

My future looks… well it looks like I might actually have a future.
And it kills me, it kills me that you won’t be a part of it.
That you don’t know the love of my life.

It’s funny, because the person that you used to be, and the person I am in love with,
You two would have been great friends.
Even your hand writing is similar.

I sometimes wonder if that’s part of why I love him.
Because there is a glimmer of you in his eyes.

Funny, because they say women usually marry men like their father.
Yet, the man I love could not be any more different than my Male Genetic Contributor. (he did not earn the right to be called my “father”. He is either “MGC” – Male Genetic Contributor – or Assface)
In fact, even though my love has blue eyes and yours are the deepest chocolate brown,
It’s more like I have chosen a man like you, my brother, than my MGC.

What’s more is that he was there in the aftermath.
He was the one who held me
As I sobbed, every single night
for three months.
I don’t know why I stopped crying after that,
I think maybe I ran out of tears.

But I cry now.
Now that my life is different,
And that I am different.
Now that I understand more, not only about myself
But about my life
And where I want it to go.

Now that I am growing.
Now that I am changing, for the better.
Now that I am learning who I really am,
who I am underneath it all.

But you won’t ever see that.
Won’t ever get to meet me.
The me I am becoming.

You need to know what happened.
I know you have made your choice.
Just as I have made mine.
It’s funny, actually.
Out of the children in our family:
Two have chosen one side,
Two have chosen the other side,
Two are “on the fence”, so to speak.
And it’s easy to figure out who, just look at their surnames.

You need to know,
Pretty soon, we won’t even have that in common.
Few know my “secret” that still connects me to all of them.
But soon, that won’t exist anymore. I am changing it.

It’s beyond even possible
But I still wish somehow
That you see this
And realise how much I miss you
How much I love you
How much I hurt
And how much I wish you would,

Come back to me.



Adventures in Seroquel, Chapter Two.

At time of writing, it is 8.42am. I refuse to get out of bed before 9am on a Friday morning. 

So this is the next instalment in my ‘Adventures in Seroquel‘ series. I am writing these posts mostly to poke fun at myself but also so hopefully other people who take Seroquel (the actual drug name is quetiapine, Seroquel is just one brand name) won’t feel so silly about some things they do in their sleep.

So since Part 1, it’s been a little while and I don’t have an accurate list of all the weirdo shit I’ve done. Though I do have these:

  • Started cleaning my face like a cat
  • Flailing arms, like a Muppet (Kermit most especially)
  •  Recurrence of ‘Possum Elle’ (‘playing possum’ which is where I pretend to be a possum and pull the blanket up to my nose-area and tuck my hands under the blanket

I’ve asked if Mr Hippo witnesses any more weirdo behaviour to please keep a record and tell me later so I can continue this series.

Seroquel has a pretty nasty reputation, and I can’t say it doesn’t deserve some of it. One thing that freaks people out about it (I may have written this before but whatevs) is that the class of psychiatric drug it’s in is ‘antipsychotics’. Often people who have very little knowledge of medication and are new to their mental health recovery path, think that taking an ‘antipsychotic’ must mean they are psychotic.

This is NOT TRUE. I think drugs like Seroquel need to be re-classed. I think ‘antianxiety’ or something trauma related would be better.

Originally, yes, Seroquel was developed for people who suffer from illnesses such as Schizophrenia or other schizo disorders. Often these people take HUGE doses of the drug.

But, like many other medications, Seroquel has many ‘off label’ uses. It is used for people who have trauma symptoms and/or PTSD to help control the symptoms (flashbacks and other triggers etc). It’s used as PRN* for people who have anxiety. And because of its side effects, it’s often used as a non-addictive sleep aid.

In my case, as discussed before in Part 1, I take Seroquel for a couple reasons. I take it as a trauma symptom assistant, utilise the sleep side effects for my horrible insomnia and as PRN.

And now it’s coffee time!


*Because the medical field love Latin, PRN stands for ‘Pro Re Nata’ which means ‘as required’.