Tag Archives: mental illness

Hero

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It’s something I always knew.

It’s something we all knew.

We didn’t want to address it.

We didn’t want to face it.

I didn’t want to face it.

The glances I’ll clock.

The sheep of stigma that’ll flock.

The throwing of their rocks.

The quirks they’ll mock.

The rabbit holes of horror…

they’ll simply never stop.

It was me.

It was me!

This whole time, it was me.

I’m no victim.

I’m the killer.

I’m never the substance,

only filler.

The narrative in my head

far surpasses the 

reality of the life I’ve led.

What a concept.

What a threat.

This expectation that I’m vile,

you’re telling me I’ve never met?

What’s more ill?

A diagnosis or

the suppression of my character?

I tell myself what others tell me.

Turns out, it’s only silence,

and those negativities?

Baby, that’s all me.

I’m fundamentally kind.

I’m a rare comedic find.

I’m empathetic and I’m loyal.

My compassion never foils.

I succeed, and I thrive.

I’m consistently praised and recognized.

I’ve been locked in darkness,

yet shine so bright.

My heart was chronically harnessed,

yet it unleashed to Mr. Right.

I’m capable and worthy of love.

An ideology I’d simply never heard of.

This guilt and shame?

For what?

Living in my own brain?

It’s out of my control

and I finally surrender.

I’m no lost cause,

and my life will be filled with splendor.

I may be the villain in someone’s story.

They may judge and fuel their own glory.

No punishment was greater served 

than the one I imposed on myself.

You’re welcome,

but now I’ve found help.

I deserve better and I am better.

I’m no hero to you.

That’s okay.

I’m a hero to myself,

in each and every way.

54321

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I feel a detachment.

One so sharply edged, that I’m bleeding.

I feel a panic.

One so numbing, that I’m floating.

I feel a fear.

One so horrific, that I’m hiding.

I feel a confusion.

One so obliterating, that I’ve entered a delusion.

I feel an emptiness.

One so hollow, that any remaining feeling is simply the negative reverberations of my thoughts.  

–

I see a void.

Yet, it’s all consuming.

I see colors.

Yet, they all fade to a grey scale.

I see flames.

Yet, it only lingers as ash.

I see a pillow.

Yet, it provides no comfort for my head…

only anguish.

–

I hear my own echo.

It’s haunting, and there’s a crew of spirits.

I hear a slow drip.

It’s an attempt at keeping the faucets of my ego from freezing.

I hear white noise.

It’s the only way I can stay sane.

–

I smell an overpoweringly nauseating aroma.

The one that makes you ill.

The one you can’t escape.

The one that can’t be cured.

Even time has to wait.

Once you’ve inhaled the suffering, you cannot forget it.

I smell morbidity.

The one that seizes your brain.

The one that turns joy to mold.

The one that crumbles to a shady blue in your hands.

Even wine won’t pair well.

Once you’ve inhaled the doubt, it becomes your captor.

 –

I taste a bitterness,

but the longing for peace remains sweet.

Vacancy

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I started writing this way back in January of this year. I finally finished it not too long ago, in June. Honestly, the delay is very fitting considering the theme of this poem. It’s been a struggle to declutter my head and the detrimental negativity that’s clouded my life. I’m here. It’s getting better. More rooms are opening up for bigger and brighter things, and the anticipation is extraordinary.

Cheers.

I’m in need of some vacancy.

My mind has been too full lately.

My trauma hasn’t paid a dime.

He’s committing theft, amongst other crimes.

My tenants have tunnel vision.

Endless sorrow, that’s their mission.

Depression occupies the big suite.

Anxiety rests on the balcony.

Paranoia guards the front doors,

with desperation as its floors.

Joy has been begging to come in.

The other tenants simply won’t let him.

They fear he’ll set the house on fire,

and he will leave no survivors.

What can I do to sneak him in?

I’d light the match and start over again.

I’d have love stay in the big suite;

creativity on the balcony.

Aspiration guards the front doors,

with motivation as its floors.

Joy fills the air in every room.

Finally, my soul will begin to bloom.

The fire that caused death,

bore life.

Jink

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It’s time.

Jink: a sudden quick change of direction.

Writing a song for this blog. I filmed myself on my laptop while writing this. It took 40 minutes. This is an anthem for me. I make “quick changes of direction” often. I am glad I do. Watching the video back, I am able to witness myself singing words straight from my heart. Words that I’m sharing with all of you. I’m happy I documented it. Here is my song, Jink.

Enjoy.

JINK

V1:

lying down on the bed,

another restless night

am i better off dead

how can i still fight

those battles I’m losing

the choices I’m choosing

will it settle my mind

will i sleep tonight

V2:

bottle of pills in hand

all the doubts are clouding

drift to a better land

my smiles are frowning

nauseous by the facade

time is low on the clock

have no time for pouting

time to make it stop

Chorus:

happy in the light, no one sees the dark

making all the appearances

joking over the seriousness

i can’t lie anymore

i can’t force open the door

asking for help is never my answer

always the advice

but it spreads like cancer

living in denial

living in fear

living in spite

of the loved ones i hold dear

i can’t help the feelings that i have

i can’t help that your help makes me mad

makes me mad

V3:

you don’t live through this

you just can’t understand

and now my pain is bliss

from drugs in my hand

should i go and swallow

my poor heart is hollow

is quitting really grand

tonight the pills drop

*Chorus*

V4:

i’ll pray another day

in the morning i’ll wake

there’s still fight left in me

it’s all up to me

one day i’ll become free

maybe it’s not the way

drugs shouldn’t be my escape

tonight i am safe

tonight, i am safe.

i am safe.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

Until next time,

Lo.