Always felt other and wrong Never truly felt like I belong Never felt unencumbered and free Allowed to just be me Perpetual cycles of pain and abuse Always guessing which persona mask to use Living with nagging doubt, maybe I’m just insane
~Can a diagnosis everything explain~
Help me to equilibrium gain Teach me what I need to know To at functioning life have a go Give me hope of fitting in Break my minds eternal tailspin Show me how to reach good mental health Allow me to fully use my minds idea wealth
Sitting here wondering if I really dare to post this. Afraid to expose myself. Afraid to overshare. Afraid to be rejected once more. At the same time feeling like I need to share how much upheaval there is right now. And why.
I’ve had bouts of depression on and off through life. And I’ve been told to view them and every other issue as stemming from the abuse I’ve gone through. That my struggles depend on that only and if I can somehow overcome them I will be as everyone else.
Cue a new psychologist.
Who started to ask questions I’ve never got before. Who administered not just the really short screening tests (that apparently typically don’t catch female sufferers) but longer fuller tests that screen for Adhd/Add and Autism spectrum disorder. The last months have been test upon test. There are a few left but the first of the two is by now a given, the second one in some kind of high functioning way very probable.
I don’t know how to feel about either. And I don’t know if it will really help in any practical way.
Shadow people before my eyes Drifting aimlessly through their lives Foggy as rainy crying skies Shadow people before my eyes Fading as sorrow’s darkness rise Remembering just negatives Shadow people before my eyes Drifting aimlessly through their lives
Nobody holds then as they cry No one a kind helping hand gives Sorrow without friends multiply Nobody holds then as they cry Nobody these souls fortify They are dark depressions captives Nobody holds then as they cry No one a kind helping hand gives
Shadow people before my eyes What can get then to see bright life Fading away ‘til their souls dies Shadow people before my eyes Unable to see the blue skies Lost without finding hope inside Shadow people before my eyes What can get then to see bright life
I’m half a month early, but this one is written for Mental Health Awareness Month. A way to show that there are a lot of people out there who suffer from depression, and do so thinking and feeling they are all alone. Because that is part of how depression works, isolating us from the rest of the world.
But you are not alone! There is help to get!
For many there are loved ones that would like nothing better than to give help, support and love. And if you don’t have loved ones who care, there is support and help to get, from others who have suffered as you do and from professionals. But you have to reach out or open up just a little bit for them to know you need help. And that I know from personal experience is not always an easy thing.
Writing a triple triolet as in Trapped, Imprisoned In Her Own Mind, was so fun and challenging enough that I just had to do it again. Because that way it feels like you get a chance to make the triolet go somewhere and not just be a repetitive poem stuck in one place.
Constantly shifting and parrying One small misstep Is all it takes to fall When you are On the edge
A thin line betwixt darknesses The only light tread In this weave of nightmares Bright hope is scarce When you are On the edge
Unending battles and skirmishes No path to ceasefire Scraped raw, skinless When you are clinging To a sharp edge
Trapped in loops of the past Shackled by demons No space to break free When you are balancing On the edge
Blind to joy, trust, peace Deaf to caring words and hearts Mute the screams, silence the tears, hide the pain Drowning in a well of sadness Unable to reach out or be reached When you are living On the edge
Written for myself and others I care for. Who like me is battling depression, old trauma wounds and mental health issues.
I wanted to share how it feels to live on that edge. When the edge is all there seems to be. When there is no light on the horizon. That’s why there’s a trigger warning. Because from that place you don’t feel hope. Can’t imagine a happy ending.
Bad day You know it by the thousand mile stare The one I get caught in when not actively concentration on anything Alone, looking at the world through glass Days that quantum physics assert the worlds just an illusion Nothing really reaches me Yet, I feel perpetual sorrow Aching loneliness
Bad night You know it by the introvert behavior The one I show when feeling unsafe, unconnected, unloved Seemingly at ease, but constant vigilant Nights when the dark is comforting and hiding creeping menace Nothing really catches my attention Diversions only a source of stress I walk to and fro without aim or results
Re-post comment: Plagued by the black dog of depression. I nearly convinced myself to skip Wandering the Archives Wednesday. Until I realized that’s how it always goes. I tell myself really unkind things. And go further into darkness.
So here’s a poem about just how bad such days are.
If you’re suffering. Know you’re not alone. That there is no shame!
Today’s poem is inspired by all three pieces of art. It’s an effort to put words on how it is to live with depression, complex PTSD, and every other traumatic rewiring of my mind.
Written in one of those interwoven forms I like so much – Pantoum. This is the first time I’ve written a longer version than the standard four verses. At first I did not intend a Pantoum, but after having written the first four stanzas (or first verse) I realized that’s where I was going. Neither did I intend a long one. That happened due to flow, rhythm, stanzas enough to make it a coherent whole.
A Dutch visual artist. He is also one of the two men behind the publishing house Petrichor. Freedom is very important in the visual work of Marcel Herms. In his paintings he can express who he really is in complete freedom. Without the social barriers of everyday life.
There is a strong relationship with music. Like music, Herms’ art is about autonomy, freedom, passion, color and rhythm. You can hear the rhythm of the colors, the rhythm of the brushstrokes, the raging cry of the pencil, the subtle melody of a collage. The figures in his paintings rotate around you in shock, they are heavily abstracted, making it unclear what they are doing. Sometimes they look like people, monsters, children or animals, or something in between. Sometimes they disappear to be replaced immediately or to take on a different guise. The paintings invite the viewer to join this journey. Free-spirited.
He collaborates with many different authors, poets, visual artists and audio artists from around the world and his work is published by many different publishers.
Christine O’ConnorIs an artist working in glass, metal, fibre and paint. Sometimes her work is based on photographs, but more often, she creates in the moment. She loves to play with texture and colour.
Inky black, her nightly travel track Hopelessness all luminescence lack Ancient lore, by all who has gone before Depression’s demons lonely souls adore Cold sorrow, haunting dreams of tomorrow Unloved child, cutting pain in bone and marrow
Fiery passion, smothered without compassion No freedom to create in whatever fashion Bright love, fading to embers without the care it behooves Lost without the moon’s brightness above Hope dart, as sudden kindness heal a hurt heart Stars glimmer as dark clouds depart
Warm trust, swells in the arms of lust Surrender to soul guidance we must Sunrise’s clarion call, there’s hope for us all Chance to rise again after a fall Fear ended, trauma shattered mind mended Rise like a true abuse ascender
Mummified alive by cobwebs of lies and deceit Numbed until she couldn’t see it Spider poison talking in her ears Corroded until her heart knew new only fear Hiding within a surreptitious poised shell Her soul walked the cold and lonely paths of hell In concentric circles further and further away from herself Until one day a peddler in a wolf pelt Traded a scarlet apple for a rhyme One bite, her being rang with creative passions chime Hands writing forbidden poetry until frozen fingers paper crumble Feets choreographing forms until they bled and stumble There is nowhere for the petite rodent to hide her bright light Her pointy shoes rap-tap-ratting in their flight She sings with newly found voice Creative suffering my life choice For love I’ll walk through fire Reify my heart’s hidden desires Travel from dark nadir to bright zenith Rise from the ashes like a newborn Phoenix
There really wasn’t time. Right now I should socialize and talk the night away. Instead I’m alone, polishing the last poem of the year. I felt it important to write one last piece. A piece of rebirth and renewal. So I searched for inspiration and found it in #skyloverwordlist.