That's a "Rap" Baby!

Before Poop2Poppies™ existed, before the flowers, before the products, before the website, there was just me trying to stay alive.

Over the years I attended countless meetings, worked with counsellors, went to rehab, relapsed, started again, relapsed again, was fired from jobs and spent all of my time wondering why recovery seemed to work for everyone else but not for me. I wanted it. I felt like I wanted it more than anyone. But I couldn't achieve long-term sobriety.

Some people find lasting recovery through spirituality, a Power Greater than themselves, 12 step meetings, rehabs, counselling, religion, medication, exercise, service work, or a combination of them all. I have enormous respect for anyone who finds something that helps them build a better life.

One of the places that helped me enormously was my last rehab. It was a six-month rehabilitation program where we were encouraged to write. Every week we would write essays, reflections, stories, and personal pieces, then read them aloud to the group.

Looking back now, I realise writing was helping me long before I understood why.

One evening, we were travelling home from an AA meeting on the rehab bus when Eminem's Cleanin' Out My Closet came on.

I knew that song.

Not some of the words.

All of the words.

It was my anthem.

I started "rapping", other people joined in, and for just a few minutes I forgot everything that was wrong with my life. Then the radio was accidently switched off after the first verse and I exclaimed, "That's okay, I'll go a cappella," and kept going.

With my "Rehab Family", I sang the second verse to my dad in that bus. I felt every emotion, pulling my Eminem moves, and feeling the anger release.

It changed something.

To this day, it's one of my favourite recovery memories.

I wasn't the girl with the drinking and drug problem.

I wasn't the girl who kept failing.

I wasn't the girl carrying years of shame, guilt, anger, and regret.

I was simply myself.

And I loved it.

That feeling stayed with me.

So after having re-lived that moment time and time again, plus watching 8 Mile approximately one million times, I sat down and wrote a "rap".

It isn't polished.

It wasn't written by a professional songwriter.

It certainly isn't something Eminem would perform!

That's not the point. It was written by someone who was exhausted, frightened, angry, confused, and desperately trying to understand what addiction had done to her life.

For years I believed I was the problem.

Today I just I think I didn't have the right tools in my toolbelt.

The deeper battle was learning how to like myself.

Then learning how to love myself.

Then learning how to build a life worth staying sober for.

Writing became one of the first places where I could begin doing that. Writing and painting. (But more about painting on another Bloom Note).

As I write this, Poop2Poppies™ is still very much under construction. I'm still finishing writing descriptions, building new products and trying to turn an idea into something real.

One of the next things I hope to create on the website is a community section called The Poppy Patch.

A place where we can hopefully grow together.

A place where people can submit poems, songs, journal entries, artwork, photography, short stories, reflections, or anything else that helped them through a difficult chapter of life.

I cannot promise I'll be able to publish everything.

I won't be able to publish content that promotes violence, hate, discrimination, illegal activity, or material that intentionally harms other people. Likewise, I won't be able to sell your personal creations through the website.

What I can do is provide a space where people can share their work, their voice, their story, and, where appropriate, links to their own websites, businesses, projects, or other creative pursuits.

Because sometimes the thing that changes your life isn't a counsellor, a book, a meeting, or a rehab.

Sometimes it's discovering a part of yourself you didn't know existed.

For me, that part was writing.

For somebody else, it might be studying.

Photography.

Music.

Poetry.

Gardening.

Woodwork.

Pottery.

Who knows?

The point isn't what you create.

The point is that you create.

One final note before you read on. For full disclosure, this rap contains swear words.

It is the exact version that came out of my head at the time. The swear words are not there for shock value. They are there because they accurately reflect the emotions I was experiencing when I wrote it and the music and movie that inspired it.

If strong language offends you, the rest of this Bloom Note may not be for you.

Whether you read on or not, I hope this inspires you to start writing, creating, exploring a forgotten part of yourself, or finding a new part of yourself that you never knew existed. And I pray you'll consider sharing it with me one day in The Poppy Patch.

Until then my friends, here's my "rap"!

Merry-Go-Round... Gone Wrong

How many rock bottoms do I have to hit, before I get sick and tired of this shit.
Can’t take it anymore, not even for a second.
But I can’t stop myself from breathing, just like trying to stop the obsession.
It won’t stop, just goes on and on and on.
Won’t stop. It’s a merry-go-round... Gone wrong.

I was born with the gene,
So it was over at just age 13.
The pilot light was burning,
A decade of yearning.
From the moment I was created,
I was taught tears, pain and hatred.
Dad left mum before I was alive,
What chance did I have when all she could do was cry?
Cry for a man who didn’t give a shit,
Not learning his lesson - fuck man! I was his fifth!
So growing inside her, I felt all of her hurt,
It triggered the disease, buried me down in the dirt.
A young child taught she was unlovable,
By some dumb fuck who was totally unemotional.
Then came the rest, my perspective may be clouded,
But they didn’t love me either so this disease became empowered.
It swallowed me whole and just bided its time,
Patience is a virtue but in this case, a crime.
It teased and taunted not giving me a break,
Until one day I finally just drank.
Drank the poison like it would put out the fire,
Nothing could stop it now, it had all the power.
Power to destroy like a raging tornado,
Overflowing volcano.
Punched me until I couldn’t see straight.
Til all I could do was hate.
Hate him, hate her.
Hate the whole fucking world.

It sucks you in,
Makes you feel like a king.
Then it sneaks into your soul,
And slowly grips it in a hold.
You’re powerless, can’t move,
This mother fucker screaming for more booze!
“It’ll help, it’ll help” It promised me so.
But it doesn’t, and how the fuck could I have fucking known?
It’s a liar. A thief.
And before you even blink,
You’re lying in a gutter,
Like you just don’t matter.
It stands over you and laughs at your fear,
Knowing too well that your end is near.
Another notch on its long fucking belt,
Another soul destroyed that no one can help.

Not every story has a happy ending,
But to the disease here is the message I’m sending.
You may be Drago but I’m fucking Rocky.
I’m still standing bitch,
And now you ain’t looking so cocky.
You beat on me and beat on me and smashed me to a pulp,
But you didn’t knock me out dog, and that’s your one fault.
Cos if I’m still breathing and I still have a pulse,
I’m still in the game and I'm gonna one day get results.
I may not want to, but I grit my teeth and go deep inside,
Find my inner strength. Find my mother fucking pride.
Do you remember the end of the movie when Rocky fights back?
Gonna do it to YOU, starting with this mother fucking track.
See I wasn’t born for you, and I know all's I gotta do,
Is believe in myself, even though no one else does.
Not Sally, not Rohan not even my own fucking mum.
Building up strength with Bill W now,
Got an army of soldiers, and they’ve shown me how.
To lace up my gloves, put my fighting shoes on,
Last round, ding! Now may you be GONE.

Written by Amanda Jayne

June, 2018

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