Depression/Mental Illness

Basically write a poem about depression or some mental illness. You can use any form you want, but just stick to the subject. Only one entry per person please.

Wow thank you for being the first to post, and such a wonderful piece you have written from your trials and thoughts. Great job.

Humility in sepia

resting upon my crest
a shallow hopeless soul
with shame that resonates
with pain I call my own
no man would understand
no love could ever hold

falling to pieces fast
this shattered empty hole
have dreams that gone awry
shed skin for tears of gold
this heart is worthless now
in bloom and yet so old

through pictures I relate
nostalgia creeping in
reliving countless pasts
denying endless sins
true self is holy now
you are a fruitless whim

the longest hours pass
this mind is empty still
the gremlins come alive
so havoc shall begin
till I be noticed again
vanity can't seep in

This evil thing,
This growing illness,
Won't let me smile,
Won't allow me to rest.

My thoughts are awful,
Groing darker with each passing day,
No one will help,
No matter what I say.

They say I'm wrong,
That I'm looking for an excuse,
I try to hide my sorrow,
But its no use.

I've lost all faith,
In a light that's blurred,
My screams fall on deaf ears,
They aren't heard.

Every waking moment,
Is an endless fight,
Disease has created a world,
That is darker than night.

So if there's anyone out there,
Who hears my cry,
I'm begging you to save me,
Please; before I die.

~~~~~~FLUSH THEM AWAY~~~~~~
I awake to curse the day
and swallow the happy pill anyways
it slides down and starts to dissolve
all the while testing my resolve
zombie makers that's what they should be called
all my senses are dulled
couldn't cry if i wanted to
but i guess that's what these drugs are supposed to do
mental illness my closest friend
its here for me now and it will be in the end
no more happy pills for me
i flushed them so i can be free
free of your meds
that fuck with my head
they are not heaven sent
read the bottle, death is now a fatal event
prescribed by a doctor who could give a shit less
if I improve or if I'm depressed
free lunches from drug reps decide my fate
doctors wishing i stay in a slave state
being lost or confused is good for the soul
even when you feel out of control
medicated is how they want you to be
all the while knowing meditation is the key

This was written regarding my long term battle with obsessive compulsive disorder.

O.C.D.

One. Two. Three.

Locks are twitching. Fingers itching.
Pull. Push. Pull. Flush.
Edges, wooden seams,
eyes darting
broken dreams.

One. Two. Three.

My vision skates
the edges of the window pain;
Inside me, glass is breaking
people invading
touching my belongings,
finger prints in vast array.

One. Two. Three.

I flick the switches
back and forth,
there are gas mark stitches,
zeros in my eyes.
I see rooms in flames
Ash. Charred remnants
memories in vast decay

One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.

Set. Me. Free.
Set. Me. Free.

Drowning

Clear crystal pools
Cascading waterfalls
Sounds of cicadas
The calls of children
The laughter of courting couples
The smiles of mothers
The distant thunder
Buzzes of bees
Twitters of birds
Crashing waves
They are drowning me!
Like fire imps
They stick needles in my brain
I want to scream
They are like an ocean
They are drowning me
I am drowning
Help me
Get me out of here
Shove me under
shades, blankets, bed
I need to get away!
I sit here on this bench
Begging you
whoever you are
Get me out of here...

Could i use a previously written poem?

If I can here it is, its called I Can't Write About It

I can't write about it.    
   
I can't write about the nightmares that came to life.    
How I walked through my life like a zombie.    
   
I can't write about the pills that I hid in drawers    
because I was too proudly self-conscious to take them.    
How I set aside money so I could finally make a run for it;    
to some life that was supposed to be better.    
   
I can't write about how I believed someone else should take    
my place in the world, because I felt I was wasting it.    
How someone else should use my opportunities.    
I did not want them; didn't deserve.    
   
I can't write about the first day, second semester.    
Not about how I left in the the middle of the philosophy professor's    
lecture because I couldn't keep my heart rate    
quieter than a jack hammer; my breathing like a locomotive.    
   
I can't write about how I sat catatonic in my dad's arms    
while he sat and cried with me. When he finally asked me,    
"Do you want to live?!" I can't write the response I gave,    
unless I can speak in code. Like the NATO phonetic alphabet, November Oscar.    
   
I can't write about the drive to the emergency room.    
Hearing my dad say over and over that I was going to get    
the help needed. How I had to tell the doctor that I .... I ....    
I …  
wanted  
to  
kill myself.    
   
I thought about all the funeral arrangements I'd made.    
Debating whether planning would make it easier for everyone,    
or whether I was even remotely    
worth the price of that casket with free shipping.    
   
I can't write about the ride to the ward.    
A shuttle across town to that place where    
only the crazies are suppose to go.    
How when I was finally given a room for the night,    
it was a dimly lit, beige room with a barred window and thick, metal door.  
The "bed" was a cold, plaster growth from the floor    
and written on the wall was the name of a previous tenant,    
in his own crimson code.    
   
I can't write about how I was monitored all night but    
still scared as sleepless schizophrenics wandered the halls.    
I can't write words to describe the horror of uncertainty;    
not knowing how long I would have to stay, or how serious my condition.    
   
For all I knew, I was beyond repair and should be treated like the dog I was. Just put me to sleep and bury me in the back yard.    
Better yet, just dump me in the ocean so no one will have to remember how I wasted space. money. time.    
   
I can't write about it unless its through broken metaphors.    
It is too hard to even think, much less write or talk about it.    
But I suppose being around to write about it is the most important thing.    

When you told me there were people that, I couldnt see
I didnt believe you
When you told me that yellow tasted like strawberry jam and gunsmoke,
I didnt believe you
The day you drew the interstate highway across our walls, from memory in black sharpie
I couldnt believe you

But I could love you,
Love your rambling easy speaking, rolling conversations and  
how you taught me that it was ok to wear rain boots even if the sun was glaring at you in annoyance from his throne in the sky,
thats fine.
Let  THE MAN be mad

Growing up, I never wanted normal
I just wanted you
In the same room, the same planet
But you were always a rising star
No.
A comet.
You lit up my world, made a huge impact
and faded to black.
You were always so dramatic
More screen siren than parent,
More tragedy than romance
I hope your last goodbye was
not the last act and
I get to recite "I believe you" before
the final curtain.

   


             b r o a d w a y  
 
 
 
       
Sitting under an striped umbrella by the pool  
I wonder why am I sitting there  
in the very first place  
then about the point in wondering,  
if anything  
 
afterwards  
 
I  
 
-blink  
-try to yawn audibly  
-fail  
-begin to shake my legs  
-chew on the bland gum  
 
and, I  
 
-try to burp  
-move my glares [by puckering my nose]  
-stop breathing for some time  
-raise my head  
-try to stare at the sun  
-squint hard  
-start to move my legs sideways[slow at first and then with a viciousness]  
-whimper[in a moment of induced whim]  
-let a trickle of iced coffee froth run down my chin  
-shudder violently    
 
and,  
   
watch a sea of humanity    
pour in my direction  
men, women and children  
 
The men show interest  
the women, concern  
and the children,  
well they just smile  
and look across  
[or probably thru me]  
 
With closed eyes, I try to imagine    
all these unknown faces  
[a whole set of expressions]  
the stage-light keeps getting brighter    
than the mid-day sun  
 
until that's all I see  
with my airtight eyes  
 
Hands hold-grope-touch-caress    
Whispers-words-sounds seep in  
 
A smirk gets born    
[So much for throwing away  
the box of Ritaline]  
Welcome, to the show  
 
I am the guniea pig  
I am today's entertainment  
and I am, the puppet master  
 
I am everything-nothing  
I am your whore  
 
So come fuck me  
with your eyes-hands  
with the love and    
the concern  
with your borderline desperation  
and ejaculate    
your lack of indifference  
or blobs of belief[in the flawed act of my staged death]  
 
and we-all of us-both go home,  
happier than before.  
 
 

This is an easy topic. I'm bi polar and almost everything I write is influenced. Let me know what you all think.

Waging war

This grip on me tightens daily, its a burden unseen.
That noxious inebriation, washes it all away.
Making everything worse but yet is it better.
Never fixing anything.
Even still,Its a selfish choice,
but yet seems to be the best.
My night is gone, and bottle empty.
Only thing left is a drunken haze.
Numbs it all but burns the worst.
Fueling the fire that's almost wild.
Burning inside, unseen by all.
There are choices but regardless I will fall.
Soul is weakened. But the mind is numb.
Lost in the confusion.
Never knowing these feelings.
Understanding is minimal but it doesn't matter.
Another shot, it quells the thoughts.
They will return, always do.
Hard-wired for want, for need.
Numbs these things, these things indeed.

Lost but found. With an unknown battle.
No one knows, it cant be seen.
Always there beneth the surface.
Waiting for the want, my need is its feed.
The monster with loves these things indeed.
The bites are deep. The scars are old.
These shields I built never hold.

Wow, great stuff everyone thanks for submitting these.

Psychotherapy


Walk,
Darkness,
Head down alone,
Hate this recurrent thoughts
Why,
What happends with
Me I’m gone.

Time went fast.
Should I go?
You see I hate this lonlyness,
No one has a clue,
The trauma, I suffer, I hide it
My weakness.

My illness,
Treatable? Is Madness
I keep walking, hands in my packet,
Suicidal is an option, is it painless or
Can it be Numbness?

I hate the look,
The critics, the doctors
All diagnosis, I hear them talking
He is going to kill himself,
Prognosis?

I look at myself in the mirror
With my eyes all wet wanting to cry,
And I can’t, so is all this pain kept inside my chest
Why do I feel like I’m the only one that don’t dye.

My room, no lights please,
My best friend the darkness,
Guilt in my chest, Hopelessness,
Everybody doing well, I feel less.

Psychotherapy Raise my stress,
Addicted to Antidepressant
The excused pharmacotherapy.

I break the wall, let myself out,
It can’t do anything anymore yes I’m about,
I’m not scare, indecisiveness, I guess my doubts.
All this chemical in my veins, dominant cloud.

I hate this word poor,
As a relief I feel I’m cool
I act like nothing happens
Acting like a fool.
Full of anger,
Irritability getting higher.
The weight lost, the lost of my faith
My behavior has changed, and face.

So I sit, realize,
an idea come into my mind,
Think about loneliness, and worst dying,
doubt in my head
indecisiveness,
create agitation,
un control irritation,
Poor social support
Rejection.

SENA

Bordering

laces undone
undisclosed lamenting
manic episodes
epilogues on my mandibles
who can I fool?
this neural road
is my only hope
to ever finding a way
through self-preservation
I'm never treading back to senseless elation