When it hurts, you write

Here is a collection of poems that have been shared with me, our experience with depression and bipolar disorder. Some of us really can write when it hurts enough. I’ll begin with two of mine.

Oh, illness you are crushing me
Death’s door begs to open for me
Brain I cannot handle
Strangles my brain, scrambled
Hurts, the pain rambles
Voices, not my friends
Where are my friends?
I cannot hear anyone
Nothing in my peripheral lens
Cats meow and rub on my leg
Don’t want to stink and
Bloat around them
Anne, car, garage, exhaust
What am I if not lost?
Sylvia, thirty, same as me
Left a son, my empty womb
I left no legacy, just my words
My laughter, my tears, isolation
Not my friend

Pills and pills and pills again
Try to fix the broken brain
Mistake, malfunction
I don’t belong
Shame on me for causing harm
Wearing out my welcome
Pain, pain, cry, cry, cry
Codependent, alcohol
Yelling, throwing glass at my anger
Mom, I wanted, held close
Needed affection, ignored
Trouble, shame, shame
What is wrong with you?
Why can’t you act like everyone else?
I am not like everyone else
No one can see inside my brain
No one can feel my kind of pain
I write to hear myself
You are my company, my friend

C. L. J.

All rights reserved. Not to be copied or reprinted without express permission of the author.

Depression is not sadness;
it is being buried in dreams
of anxiety and pain
It is staring at the
same
page
of a book
and not even hearing the rain

Depression is not sadness;
it is wanting someone there
but having nothing to say
It is not feeling the wind
on a cool breezy day

It is staring at the ceiling,
watching the fan ocillate
It is face down in the couch
under a boulder’s weight

Depression is not sadness;
when you feel like a burden,
no one can hear you cry
And you wouldn’t have an answer
if they asked you why
The shower stays
bone
dry

The sun rises and sets
behind the curtains you close
The moon looks down on you
with its soft, milky glow
Caresses your hair
and all the oil it’s grown

Depression is not sadness;
it is waiting without a clock
and existing is a chore
It is being chained
to the bottom
of the ocean floor

Going up
or going down
on the same elevator
Depression is not sadness
Do I end it all now,
or later?

C. L. J.

All rights reserved. Not to be copied or reprinted without express permission of the author.

Jenny D.

All rights reserved. Not to be copied or reprinted without express permission of the author.

The owl’s call spilled lucidly into the moonlit night as the spider spun his sinister web.

I couldn’t really tell if the cicadas were deafening tonight or just part of the giant symphony playing out the nocturne.

What did I expect to happen as a result of my terrible chess moves? For every action there’s an inevitable reaction, right? With my head hung low I wept, feeling like a fly in that spiteful web, knowing I’d eventually be devoured. I had no idea how to even pursue a checkmate now, and it was ever so late in the game.

So, I laid down in that newly dug grave of mine, seeing what eternity would be like from that vantage point. No more chess moves might be an incredible relief, but now I’d have to fight the roots of the towering oak along with the worms. I succumb to the realization that even in death we must face our battles. Rising, I move amongst the living, deciding that I’m strong enough for at least one more try.

Misty G.

All rights reserved. Not to be copied or reprinted without express permission of the author.

These thoughts that invade my happiness
Spinning round and round
Feelings,
Sounds,
Smells,
Sights,
All triggers sometimes
To the damage in my mind

I told them, adults, what she did
But nothing was ever done
And she was left to her happiness,
A marriage, whatever she wanted,
While my mind became infested

Even though I’ve forgiven them all,
I often wonder why I wasn’t important enough,
Worthwhile,
Loved,
Cherished enough as a young child
For them to hold her accountable for the way she hurt me with her fingers and her madness

These, and other razor blades in my brain, are now such a part of me, ingrained in my life, invading my hopes and dreams,
Cutting into my happiness

Why did she choose me?
Why?
Why?
And why did i, in turn, make myself a victim time and again as if I needed to repeat that scene?

No! I won’t end my life this way. Watch me as I remove each one of those old and rusty blades from my mind. I don’t deserve them. I never did.

Misty G.

All rights reserved. Not to be copied or reprinted without express permission of the author.

Alesha F.

All rights reserved. Not to be copied or reprinted without express permission of the author.

Alishia J.

All rights reserved. Not to be copied or reprinted without express permission of the author.

Would you like to see your poetry featured on here? I’d like to read it. Contact me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s