The image for this poem came to me a month ago when I was struggling with the anniversary of my last admission to hospital.  As part of the recovery care planning team I have also been talking regularly about experiences from that admission and grappling with some of the way things happen in our current system.  Here at the moment inpatient and community services are very separate.  As an inpatient the goal is discharge after which, rather like a Disney film things are often left as a vague happy ever after.  If it doesn’t work out and a person comes back again it is all too easy to judge them for it with labels like ‘revolving door patient’ which save anyone having to ask if the problems that brought them in every other time have been addressed by the person, the team, or preferably both.  The recovery care plan belongs to the person and goes with them in and out of any service in the trust and I really hope it will address some of this.

I completed the poem this week.  I want to dedicate it to a strong woman whom I met on the ward this year.  She described in painful detail to the staff how being there was harming her and how the last time she had been detained in hospital it had taken her a year of deep depression to recover after discharge but no one had wanted to know.  I hope things were better for her when she left this time.

 Dancing on a Knife Edge

I’m dancing on the edge of a knife

Leaping, twirling, ranting and swirling

There are drops to oblivion on either side

And really no where I can hide

But I’m dancing.

 

I dance here each and every day

Leaping, twirling, ranting and swirling

I’ve practiced so much and I do it well

That sometimes people cannot tell

It’s a knife edge.

 But sometimes it is all too much

Leaping, twirling, ranting and swirling

I’m so tired that my body shakes

My feet are lead and my heart it aches

I’m struggling

 

It’s hard to keep my feet in time

Wobbling, jumping, stumbling and thumping

My heavy landings shred my feet

I quickly fall behind the beat

And I’m slipping

 

The pain of each step grows worse

Lacerating, stinging, smarting and clinging

Soon it is torture not a dance

And I start looking for any chance

To escape it.

 

It’s easy to miss my knife edge then

Stepping, tripping, grabbing and slipping

And swing over the abyss while blood drips

Like crimson nail polish from the tips

Of my nerve torn fingers

 

Then, if I’m lucky, people come

Asking, sharing, supporting and caring

Encouraging me to swing back on

To that sharp edge that I slipped from

And dance some more

 

Some have a wider path just now

Travelling, walking, exploring and talking

They can offer a balancing hand

And this support may help me stand

Till my legs stop shaking

 

Others are dancing much like me

Leaping, twirling, ranting and swirling

Seeing them gives me hope

That maybe there is a way to cope

And keep on dancing

 

But some can’t wrench their eyes from the drop

Yawning, pulling, sucking and culling

They miss seeing me

How I dance when I’m free

And how sharp my knife edge is

 

To keep me safe they hold me tight

Holding, restraining, protecting and shaming

Forcing my down on my sharp blade

While asking me about how it was made

As the blood runs

 

I can’t fall then, but I also can’t dance

Captured, burning, protected and yearning

There is no relief from the biting pain

Fight and I’ll be pressed down again

So the sharp edge slices my soul

 

When they let me go my feet are blood soaked ribbons

Shredded, sliced, damaged and diced

I’m out of practice, unprepared

Feeling vulnerable and scared

That I’ve forgotten how to dance

 

Now I need supporting hands and inspirational dancers

Leaping, walking, ranting and talking

Leading the way and holding my hand

Giving me hope and helping me stand

Now more than ever

 

My knife edge is all I have to dance on

Leaping, twirling, ranting and swirling

Though it’s sharp and it’s thin

It lets me begin

I can’t dance on empty depths.

 

They wanted to make me better

Holding, restraining, protecting and shaming

To build a boardwalk above my blade

So I could walk calmly unafraid

It didn’t work out that way.

 

One day my dance will be over

Leaping, twirling, ranting and swirling

I’ll somersault off this punishing knife

On which I’ve travelled all my life

And finally learn what’s down there

 

But right now the music plays

Singing, roaring, crashing and soaring

I see others expressing the beat

Take a breath and pick up my feet

And I’m dancing.

 

I’m dancing sure footed on my blade

Leaping, twirling, ranting and swirling

But no one is ever what they once were

We can only do and dare

And a hand to squidge can help.

With thanks to the people who did keep me alive when I might not have survived otherwise and in hope that we can build on collaborative working together so that we can have a goal to learn to thrive rather than just to keep each other safe at whatever cost.