Bad day (2019 Re-post)

© RedCat

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

© RedCat

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!

Everyone is worthy of LOVE!!! ❤️


Black Dog of Depression

State of Depression – January Ekphrastic Challenge, January 13

Kerfe Roig – Clarity

Many faceted kaleidoscopic gem
Sparkling all wavelengths of light
Fiery passion interlaced with dark mayhem
Light and dark in a perpetual fight

Sparkling all wavelengths of light
Complex weave, carefully crafted hologram
Light and dark in a perpetual fight
Between bright joy and dank sorrows dam

Complex weave, carefully crafted hologram
Hiding behind social media. All’s fine!
Between bright joy and dank sorrows dam
Secretly thinking about hastening lifes deadline

Hiding behind social media. All’s fine!
Feeling there’s neither love nor care to find
Secretly thinking about hastening lifes deadline
Stuck in a flashback looping mind

Feeling there’s neither love nor care to find
Bullied to believe there’s shame to authentically be
Secretly thinking about hastening lifes deadline
Despairing of hope to ever fly free

Bullied to believe there’s shame to authentically be
Not knowing the peace of safe love
Despairing of hope to ever fly free
Searching for the guidance of a Phoenix dove

Not knowing the peace of safe love
Fiery passion interlaced with dark mayhem
Searching for the guidance of a Phoenix dove
Many faceted kaleidoscopic gem

©RedCat

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.

Read Leaves Fall to Moulder, Come Poets Hope – A chant or another of my Pantoums.

To read all poems for today go to The Wombwell Rainbow.


Christine O’connor
Marcel Herms

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.

www.marcelherms.nl

www.uitgeverijpetrichor.nl
Christine O’Connor

Is 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.

Christine O'Connor
Kerfe Roig

A resident of New York City, Kerfe Roig enjoys transforming words and images into something new.  Her poetry and art have been featured online by Right Hand PointingSilver Birch PressYellow Chair ReviewThe song is…Pure HaikuVisual VerseThe Light EkphrasticScribe BaseThe Zen Space, and The Wild Word, and published in Ella@100Incandescent MindPea River JournalFiction International: Fool, Noctua Review, The Raw Art Review, and several Nature Inspired anthologies. Follow her explorations on her blogs, https://methodtwomadness.wordpress.com/  (which she does with her friend Nina), and https://kblog.blog/, and see more of her work on her website http://kerferoig.com/
Marcel Herms – Hip Priest



Depressed Diet

Panic-attack by George Grie

As the sun slowly rise
I wake, from dreams of my demise
Anxieties of every kind
Flooding through my mind
For breakfast, there’s the usual dark potion
Full of self loathing and suicidal ideation
During the day there’s the usual snacks
Triggers and hailing panic attacks
Lunch is often light
Too stressed to eat a bite
When it’s time for afternoon tea
All I wanna do is run and flee
In the evening I swallow screams for dinner
My soul-thread growing ever thinner
At night, alone in the dark, I despair
Waiting to be taken by sweat-soaking nightmares

© REDCAT
Photo by Johannes Plenio from Pexels

Written for Weekly Scribblings #33 at Poets and Storytellers United. Where we’re invited to to write new poetry or prose which includes the phrase “swallow screams for dinner” from C. Sandlin’s poem, “Telling Stories

Life Entombed

Photo by Juris Freidenfelds from Pexels

In the garden of broken hope
Nothing lives, nothing grows

In the garden of crushed dreams
Nothing sings, nothing teems

In the garden of utter loneliness
Nothing cares, nothing caress

In the garden of eternal gloom
Nothing buds, nothing bloom

Garden of life entombed

© REDCAT
Photo by icon0.com from Pexels

For reasons that will probably get out in my writing, I’ve haven’t posted in a while. But with end of summer approaching I felt the need to reconnect, to restart, to refocus. A Beloved Quadrille felt like a good start.

Want to know how to write these 44 word nuggets of creativity?
Visit How Does Your Garden Grow? dVerse Quadrille.

Read all my Quadrilles here.

Photo by George Becker from Pexels

Solitude and I

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Abandoned and abused, I grew to fear you
But in truth, I where reared by you

Bullied as other, ostracized by my peers
Alone with daily jeers, leers and snears
Childhood and adolescence, year after year
Branding me as strange and queer

Yours the only company to keep me near
Convincing me I’m a mere shadow
Not really alive, not supposed to be here

Developed intimate knowledge of all your tiers
As loneliness you have tooth and claws that tear
Lead chains that trust steer
Forged by every untruth spear
Betrayal heart and soul sear
Invisible barriers separating, from those you hold dear

Dark lonely nights your visits I fear
Haunted hours filled with tears
Leaving me hollow and sheer
As pale dawn washes the heavens clear

After becoming a mother, I’ve started to befriend you, we’re
Old pals, whatever the history, that’s clear
Nowadays I even hold our moments dear
Filled with new knowledge, hope and trust
I’ll never again from my own side veer

All that I seek
I can find within my own heart soul sphere

© REDCAT

This piece where not something I wished to write, but perhaps needed to write, as whatever I thought about the subject solitude – that I express both it and loneliness quite often – got drowned out by this piece rhymes running in loops in my mind.

In the prompt Björn writes;
In today’s situation of social distancing, we all have taken a crash course in loneliness, and when learning to cope. Today I would like you to write about your own experience with how you find strength in solitude or how you still struggle with loneliness.


Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

Intense Meditation, week 4

© RedCat

This week in group we where taught a Mindfulness technique called
3 – 2 – 1, it can be done sitting or walking, eyes open or closed, and as so many other meditation tools for the beginner it’s easier achieved sitting still with eyes closed. So we start there until we can do it more freely.

It’s purpose is to soothe and calm an overactive mind.


Here’s how to do 3 – 2 – 1

State, silently or aloud, three things you See, Hear and Feel (as in perceive with a sense).
Then two things of each.
Then one.

Breath calm, deep and even during. Though the focus here is not breath but the world around.


I see purple tulips. I see rain drops. I see a stack of books.
I hear the sound of typing. I hear birds singing. I hear the sound of wind.
I feel the warmth of my sweater. I feel the chill spring air trough the window.

I feel the wood floor beneath my feet.

I see purple tulips. I see a stack of books.
I hear birds singing. I hear the sound of wind.
I feel the warmth of my sweater. I feel the chill spring air trough the window.

I see purple tulips.
I hear birds singing.
I feel the chill spring air trough the window.


I have found this tool to work quite well, especially done in nature, but then all forms of meditation is easier for me there. Even writing a version now made me way more mindful and present in the current moment.

© RedCat

After four weeks meditating several times daily, it feels like a habit has formed, that I’ve completed the first step on the path. Now I’m looking forward to finding out what the next step is.


Read
Intense Meditation, Week 1
Intense Meditation, Week 2
Intense Meditation, Week 3


Note

The attentive might notice, way more than four week’s have now gone since the first post. When I started this series, I envisioned meditating this intensely, mening around three hours per day, for the duration of the eight week – Compassion Mind Training – and writing a post for each week.

Then corona virus SARS-CoV2 causing the illness Covid-19 pandemic hit the world. And everyone’s lives changed. Including cancellation of all
non-essential treatments to lighten the load on the health care system.

I’m happy and heartfelt grateful for having managed to make meditation a routine before the pandemic, and I’m proud to say I still meditate daily. It might not cure PTSD or clinical depression, but it helps to cope with both.

Going forward I plan to set up a page to gather my resources on Compassion Focused Therapy and meditation. I will also keep writing posts about my own experience and path. Reviews of tools, techniques, teachers, books and other resources. And share the insights I gather on the way.


The road might be long and windy,
but with will and intention
we can make the journey the point,
not an unforeseeable future goal.
©RedCat

Struggling Mind

© RedCat

Struggling mind
Swirling around
Trying peace to find

Anxious mind
Startling allround
No grace to be found

Fear filled mind
Urging to hide
Don’t hope for something kind

Stormclouded mind
Rejecting bright sunshine
Closing heart to hopes deep mine

Abuse programmed mind
Cued to put me down
All affirmations hollow find

Lonesome mind
Echoing soul’s cry
Loving kindness unfulfilled prophecy

Bleak depressed kind
Millions lonely just wanting to be found
Today meditation couldn’t ease my mind

© REDCAT

In September last year, meaning the first month back blogging, I wrote a piece called Bad day, about the days that PTSD and my clinical depression puts me so low I would like to just go hide. (Or die depending on how bad it gets.)

Today was such a day when the fact there’s no one to reach out to, felt like the worst thing ever, all I wanted was to hide away and cry.

Instead I did my meditation, tried to go about my day as normal and dragged myself to practice (since we’re advised physical distance rather then lockdown). It didn’t really help, but tomorrow I’ll know I did most of what I aimed today. And hopefully that will give me something.

From one depressed soul to all others

All my love and take care of yourself!

Picture by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay

GloPoWriMo 2020

DAY 1 – Build a New Start
DAY 2 – Beloved Bookstore
DAY 3 – Sunshine and Hail
DAY 4 – Isolation Dating
DAY 5 –Staring out a Windowpane
DAY 6 – Casanova Comes Closer
DAY 7 – Swirling Colors of my Mind
DAY 8 – White – Red – Black
DAY 9 – Different World After
DAY 10 – Spring Hay(na)ku
DAY 11 – Love – Hay(na)ku
DAY 12 – Make Art – Triolet inspired
by Neil Gaiman and Chris Riddell
DAY 13 – What did you think would happen
to a child left on my doorstep?
DAY 14 – Ballad of the Lost Poet
DAY 15 – Writer’s class – Hay(na)ku
DAY 16 – What is a Nomad without a Tribe?
DAY 17 – Pale Spring, Here Again, Nature Awake
DAY 18 – Spring Day in the Garden
DAY 19 – Close Couplets
DAY 20 – Lost in Love’s First Flush
DAY 21 – She Tasted Like Memory
DAY 22 – Struggling Mind
DAY 23 – Written in the book of dust
DAY 24 – At the end of every week, Friday-Cozy!
DAY 25 – Slip, Crack, Shatter
DAY 26 – Humans Really Don’t Know
DAY 27 – April Rain
DAY 28 – Greeting the Watch Horse
DAY 29 – Letter of Hope
DAY 30 – Witches Walpurgis Night Preparation

Once I couldn’t breathe

Panic-attack by George Grie

Once I couldn’t breathe. Lungs felt constricted, small. Deep breaths weren’t possible. With shallow breath, came fear, panic. It could strike anytime, anywhere. Panic-attacks really can feel like dying. You can’t breathe, heart beats painfully, reality narrows down to a gauntlet of worst nightmares.

I became obsessed with avoiding. Perpetually on my watch, fearful of anything that awoke the panic. Eventually I became a nervous wreck, who couldn’t face public commuting, certain neighborhoods or going to my childhood small-town.
Life dwindled.

One day, a wise woman, asked how my breath was. First the question made little sense, but eventually I realized I didn’t breathe deep, with my stomach. The way I learned as a singer. Retraining, I discovered a connection with true-self, a path to less stress.
Possibility of self-love.
My voice.

There are moments between heart-beats.
Between breaths.
Wherein lies lifes true meaning.

© RedCat


I’m back to turning my life into prose or poetry. Here in just 144 words, I try to tell how full fledged anxiety and/or PTSD induced panic-attacks feel, what they do to you, and what I found to help me.

This is also much on my mind since I’m back to doing breath-exercises. It seems I have more to learn in this area too. Especially relating to breathing, meditating and self-compassion.

Posted in response to Prosery: Between Heartbeats.

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