Free time living on disability

Most people would imagine that having an income but a lot of free time to be a dream. Most people would be wrong.

Humans need structure to their day and their week else one drifts into another. I have bipolar type ll, and when feeling depressed I have let life do just that. I spent more time awake than asleep.

There’s also boredom. I go out to a café, and a supermarket everyday. I watch too much tv. I read everyday. Then there’s social media…

It may sound like freedom but it’s not. The price…


Lucky?

I have encountered biphobia/homophobia twice in my life.

  1. When I came out as bisexual to my mum. I was asked if I was dating a specific girl in the middle of a fight. I told the truth, and not surprisingly it went badly.
  2. My ex-gf wasn’t out. Her brother listened into our phone conversations. He then blackmailed her into doing his half of the chores. I scared him into stopping. But it’s not hard for a 19 year old to scare a 16 year old.

Tell me, am I lucky?


I am….

I am here.

I am queer.

I am a little weird.

I am bisexual/pansexual (My desire is trans inclusive, no matter the term).

I am polyamorous.

I am fat. I’d need to loose half my weight to be a “healthy” bmi. F@ck that.

I am a geek. Primarily of history but I will understand you if you insist on telling me about your rpg.

I am non-neurotypical.

I am mentally ill.

I am a spoonie and live with chronic pain.

F@ck it all.

I am me.


The Way of the Cripple

I dance no more

It hurts to try

It hurts to not try.

I’ve never seen my lover

Draw a bow

He will never again.

Why?

Chronic illness.

The way of the cripple.

The wistfulness

Of our truths.

Pain too long and deep

To share.


An Unsent Letter to My Parents

Why, mother, why

did you go untreated?

You taught me to lie.

Why, mother, why?

Uncontrolled, punishment alotted.

Sometimes I wanted to die.

I gave mother every chance.

Boundaries broken

So I stopped our dance.

Finally speaking with my own voice.

Grief for you in

My own choice.

Daddy living in denial

Even after my decision

Final.

Your wife wrong or right.

Peacemaker,

I couldn’t stop the fight.


Inside me.

I can’t forgive you

You haven’t changed

If wishes could kill

You’d be dead

Your toxins still

Inhabit my head


Rapid cycling: Bipolar type II

Sluggish, sleepy, and sad.

Slow, hiding, and blah.

Depressed

Swing

Anxious, rushing, singing

Life speeds up.

Hypo-Manic

Swing

Repeat.


How I Learnt to Write Poetry from Song Lyrics

Photo by Saad Sharif on Unsplash

No one in my family is a poet or reads poetry. Most of the poetry I’ve read is the works of Shakespeare. But who wants to write a sonnet these days? My paternal line runs strongly to creatives, mostly artists or musicians. I learnt to write poetry from song lyrics.

My dad, my brother, and uncle play multiple instruments, and mum learnt classical guitar as a teen. I grew up listening to all kinds of music: Sydney Carter, Enya, jazz, pop, rock, religious music, musicals, country and western. I didn’t like…


The Good Child

I don’t know how to love me

I was never taught how

She wanted me to be a good child

Her carbon copy

She told me what to want

She tried to control my dreams

Then I became an adult

And I woke up


Why the Disabled and Chronically Ill Don’t Want Your Advice.

The disabled and chronically ill don’t want your advice. If you’re able bodied and not a healthcare professional, don’t give advice to us. Unless you know that person intimately you’re unlikely to understand. The only able bodied person and not a healthcare professional, who I let suggest health advice is my Auntie Jody. I consider her to know me intimately and she doesn’t push.

Don’t give unsolicited advice. Particularly if they have said something works for them and the advice contradicts that. You don’t know what they have already have…

Anita Morris

Anita Morris is a disabled Australian writer, poet and artist. It helps her cope with disabilities and pain. See her art at mauvedragon.deviantart.com

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