948 posts
  • angels_halo_shines 1w

    The curse of the family of depression that went on for centuries before me
    I couldn’t break the pattern.
    For I became part of it, tripping over my own depression. Claiming it was easy. Disowning it wasn’t for the weak or sting minded. Seems there was no escape. As the patterns have been enclosed in our blood. Locked & sealed. Patterns are meant to be broken, just not this one. It runs too deep. There was no escape.

  • rahoof 2w

    Crustacean people

    Crab man! - crab man! - Crab man!
    They yelled at me on my sister's wedding
    They yelled at me, for they saw me wearing
    A shell over my insecure skin

    They ask me not to hide from my kin
    Must remain comfortable in a family gathering
    surprise not in case we bring a scale
    dont be nervous, fail freely young man!

    Imagine what faces they make
    and how they weigh things with their eyes
    Cant help it When the scale Start tilting
    More and more over to the other side

    Yes, this is the life of a crab man
    who had grown keratin shells for his skin.
    Ask if he's tired of living with people
    who weighs shells with their own judgemental skin

    But just at the end of every occasion
    I grow a shell, thicker than the last one
    Just like a crab changing it's shell
    I prepare myself - for another season


  • manicmaniac27 2w

    When I saw your face again

    I ruined everything about myself
    Your face reminded me of how worthless I was
    How I was only good for one thing

    When I saw your face again
    I broke in two
    I was a reckless tornado tearing through anything in my way
    I only realized the damage I caused
    Months later when the winds finally calmed

    By then I didn't know who I was
    Or where any of the pieces fit back together
    I was alone with nothing but wreckage all around

    Because I saw your face again


  • rahoof 3w

    My euphoria of pain

    Of the many pain I have to go through everyday
    The one that I enjoy the most are the ones about her.
    You would ask, how does one pick favourites
    from their sufferings?
    But there is no other answers to that
    other than-
    "I have to go through this everyday."
    Even if I dont want to-
    My mind is packed with toxins for depression,
    And it decides to screw me often with general anxiety.

    Of the many pain I suffer, I like the most when I suffer thinking about her,
    It was always a kind of an euphoric sweet sensation of pain, acceptance and longing.
    One of the most enjoyable pain that I had ever felt.
    Closed chapter or a broken bridge you can call it whatever,
    you may ask for me to move on and spend more time with my family.
    To that I say,
    of the many few who gets me for who I am,
    family is not among them.

    They might ask,
    why are you being so hard on yourself, you have a roof over your head, you have food to eat, you have all your limbs and is not paralysed from the waist down like the most unfortunate.

    Yes, I am grateful for what I have
    But sometimes I crave for something more
    Than limbs more than food more than a house,
    When I crave for peace of mind.
    I think the most unfortunate people are the ones who fail to find peace for themselves.

    My first experience of anxiety was horrific.
    I even struggled to swallow food and water,
    And I got so fed up with my fear of failure,
    Even with all my limbs I had doubted every step I took with them.
    You can be the richest person of the planet and still end up being worthless
    If you cant find peace of mind.
    That's why people often say that money can't buy happiness
    For me, money is essential but its existence was always sceptical,
    It is funny how money often buys friends but not their loyalty,
    Wonder how it makes your father say that he is only proud If you find out a way
    to successfully make it by yourself.
    This often raises a series of questions that scrambles one's mind
    Wasn't he proud of me anyway?
    Wasn't he proud of being a father to a son that he gave life to?
    Why do you always have to be valued off of your success rather than your attempts to get there?

    The neglect, the isolation, abandonment
    Coupled with misfortune really test your will to live,
    Testing your will, for a reason not to take that final desicion.
    people often nearly end up deciding to tie a noose or to take a cold blade to their vein,
    Or an overdose of pills that doze you off to a never ending sleep,
    Or even wishing for a cardiac arrest on their deepest sleep for a painless death.
    All for proving a point,
    To make you people realise that the pain that they brag about everyday were true all along.
    Dont turn down a person even more if they are already feeling low, lonely or depressed.
    Sadly people end up feeling guilty only after the lose of a life.
    Technically this is not murder,
    but from the perspective of the people who end up committing suicide,
    Their experience of last days could never end up being more sorrowful than those lives inside Nazi concentration camps.
    So people should be held accountable for pushing them to that extreme.

    And from a person who suffers from the pain of uncontrollable racing thoughts,
    Who is struggling to even focus on the littlest things,
    who you blame their head is not at all there,

    Of the many things he suffer each day
    The best was always the ones about her.


  • complicated_prsn 3w

    Personal life is usually destroyed when you are not sure of what professionalism takes from you..

    #bipolar #ptsd #trauma #lonely #weird #sad #angry #ocd

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    I am afraid of me..

    I am not really sure what all personalities I have within and what all dramas I am capable of..

  • writtersfeelingz 5w

    Instagram user....

    Nowadays it's the one
    I see everytime someone
    Leaves just because
    We loved them truly
    Lust won the aces
    Breaking my heart into pieces

  • life_and_mind_of_charlie_mike 5w

    After you I’ve never been the same
    Wonder why I miss you so
    I shouldn’t really but I do
    We did things I will never have the thrill of doing again
    God I’ve never felt so alive!
    It was a toxic relationship I know
    But I will think of you until my last breath
    I will miss you and hold you close
    My dearest, sweetest taste of war

    -Camilo Melgar

  • squeaker 6w

    I tend to reflect on my mental state a lot..writing is my therapy when I cannot afford to go to actual therapy. #mentalhealth #CPTSD #PTSD #awareness #depression #anxiety

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    The War

    These battles have left me bruised and broken in a war he started.
    Left me with nothing but Trauma from the moment he departed.
    I have fought so long and so hard to find my way back from this.
    But sometimes, I find myself sinking further into the abyss.
    I thought I found a way to drop some weight... to help me swim.
    But the light of the surface only seems to dim.
    Lying to myself has become the only way to breathe,
    even though the lies do nothing but make my emotions seethe.
    They boil over sometimes, I've tried to stop it..
    spilling over until I drown where I sit.

    Nightmares all blur together at this point, no sense in remembering the details these days.
    The fabric of reality always splits open, leaving me clinging to the ends as they fray.
    They say to live in the moment, take it one step at a time.
    But living in a moment where you feel nothing but fear, is an unforgivable crime.

    Shame is a hell of a word, and I hate the way it tastes.
    I am not ashamed of the war I've waged within myself for all these years, it hasnt all been a waste.
    Ive seen my friends and family laugh until they cried
    Been there to pick them up when their loved ones have died.
    I have sung to the moon and stars when the nights seemed too silent.
    I have cherished the sun and clouds before the weather turned violent.
    I have shook the hand of the devil and wished him the best.
    I have cursed God for every soul he has taken to their final rest.
    The good times are always great until they come to an end.
    If this war has taught me anything, it is how to bend.

    Bend, but never break.
    That is what I whisper to myself with every breath I take.

    You don't have to understand anything I say,
    I am not asking you to remember every line.
    Just keep in mind the war that is raging within me
    every time I say, "I am doing just fine."

    ©Eryn Ricketts

  • mighty_are_the_fallen 7w


    Achingly bitter are my dreams,
    The ones I have in place of every memory.

    Repression and forgetfulness,
    My sweet gentleness.

    I wish I knew,
    All the things I wished to forget.

    I screamed and cried for years,
    So afraid the child I was,
    Trembling with bloody back.

    You needed help.
    You needed kindness.

    They gave you fear.

    You pushed it all away,
    But now I am left here,
    Crying to heal,
    Left with the mistakes of years of neglect.

    I dream in the shades of trees,
    The things that lurk.

    I refuse the shaking,
    The heat,
    The tears and the bile.

    Let me dream of the things we fought to forget,
    Let us heal,
    Let us mourn.

    Our heart is heavy.
    Cold and afraid.

    I will continue,
    So the abuse will never persevere.

  • mighty_are_the_fallen 7w

    I Remember Waking

    I remember waking.
    Opening my eyes and breathing,
    Yet my life is so distant.

    I grew so cold with myself,
    Like another person,
    That now I find myself learning more about myself.

    Everyday I find I have preferences,
    I did not wake with them,
    Yet I remember waking.

    I find myself,
    In the creaky floors that drive me mad,
    In the gentle breeze that makes my heart swell,
    In the foods that I refuse to eat,
    And the ones I eat so freely.

    My ears used to belong to creaky floors.
    That gentle breeze was such a fright.
    The refusal of food tasted like a swollen lip,
    Gluttony like starvation.

    I find myself so interested with myself.
    All the things I learn about myself.

    It's almost like a dream,
    But I remember waking.

  • squeaker 7w

    ~Fight, Flight or Freeze~

    My "Crisis Mode" is an assured destruction.
    A cataclysmic event taking away rational function.
    A riptide pulling me away from shore
    Dragging me deeper until I drown in my core.

    ©Eryn Ricketts

  • mana1234 7w

    What do I feel now?

    What do I feel now? I feel like a human being with gruesome amount of emotions in me but no one to tell or show them. I have so many people around me but am lonely as hell. Blood is every where, life is slowly being taken out through the throat. Somebody so bruised, somebody so weak that standing up is a task. What I did I do to deserve this? When I see inside I see someone bleeding badly, somebody struggling to be alive. Why did it happen with me? Why wasn't justice served?what were people directly involved in pain were doing in my parents bedroom? Why were they served tea in drawing room? For parents nothing is more precious than their child, or is it so???? Karma is real but why don't I see it but I don't want to see it. I have forgiven all of them from core of my heart even praying them for them to have a happy life. I don't know what I am feeling. Tears are rolling down my eyes, as I write but believe me my soul is damaged beyond repair.

  • squeaker 7w

    I have no memory of writing this in 2015, but apparently I did lol #mentalillness #PTSD #awareness #depression #anxiety

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    Mental Illness (2015)

    It's like your own personal monsters under the bed that mom and dad cant see...

    It's like a nagging whisper or scream that just wont let you be....

    Its the icy water that hits you like a thousand needles...

    Its the numb that spreads like a million marching beetles....

    The emptiness that fills the mind with ache...

    It comes in waves like water kissing the shore of a stormy lake...

    Never ending
    Never bending.
    Always Breaking
    Never fading.

    They say the light is always at the end, you just gotta keep walking...

    But you'll never see the sun until you start talking.

    ©Eryn Ricketts

  • in_fragments 7w

    Brain, Walking Away

    Sometimes I walk out of my own mind
    the way I watch somebody else
    walk out of the room.

    I'm off doing other things,
    and staying put, idly-

    I am still there, somewhere,
    but some force pulls my thoughts
    back and away, replaces them
    with someone else's,
    someone assertive or emotional,
    in another form,
    with their own walled-off memories
    from another ancient,
    hidden fractal in my head,
    taking their chance to speak...

    What started off as thick layers
    of multiple streams of thought,
    buzzing independently deep
    beneath my consciousness,
    soon gained the strength
    of silver bullets,
    entities activated and splintering
    their perceptions right through my own,
    and I have no control
    over when they arrive,
    what they will say, when they will go,
    how long they will stay away.

    My cognizance gets muffled
    and sometimes, goes blank entirely-
    blank and deeply dark, before
    suddenly snapping back into the light.
    In the middle of simple,
    everyday things,
    my body becomes a rag doll;
    triggered identities
    pass through me all the time-
    meanwhile, I can only
    stare out into nothing,
    my body heavy and my eyes,
    just as empty as my mind-
    taken over temporarily,
    for reasons kept concealed from me.

    At the edge of the emptiness,
    like a decrepit desert formed
    on my cortex long ago,
    I've been crawling my way forward
    for such a long time.
    But I cannot accept the others
    who are here, I shake them
    and smack them out of my head
    like logged water;
    so I always fall back out, run away,
    fight to bloody pulps for a life
    that is no longer only mine.

    I am tired of being
    pushed away, and pulling
    the others back like taffy
    because I don't want to hear them
    and I just want to be me-
    like a large, divided,
    dysfunctional family,
    alive in one brain, but they're all me.
    How can I be tired of being pushed away,
    when they're all me, and they're
    only trying to live as well?

    I used to think they were
    the villains, selfish
    for being there at all after decades
    of staying so silent,
    but am I the villain now? Selfish,
    because I want my body back
    to myself? Am I the evil one,
    keeping them dormant and suffering,
    buried by my fear
    of the other parts of me?

    Sometimes I walk out of my own mind,
    and I am never sure
    when I will return again.
    How can I reconcile sharing myself
    with myself, when it feels like
    I might never
    be myself again?

  • squeaker 7w

    Just Out Of Reach

    "I am attracted by the light
    But grew to fear it.
    Always willing to stand and fight.
    But frozen where I sit.

    The shadows promise safety
    This darkness is my home.
    These corners dont leave me shakey.
    Just balanced on the waves like sea foam.

    The noise is vibrant
    It's intriguing to me.
    Leading me like a tyrant
    Promising I'll be free.

    The silence promises forever
    Within these walls it lingers.
    Leaving me broken like a fever
    Reaching for happiness with these fragile fingers.

    Just out of my reach
    But too scared to move.
    They say "practice what you preach"
    But these edges aren't smooth.

    They are jagged and sharp
    The promise of blood on my palms if I try to climb....
    This hole is too deep

    The struggle is suffocating
    No air left to breathe.
    This mental static is breathtaking
    No space for relief."

    ©Eryn Ricketts

  • in_fragments 10w

    When nobody asked me what bravery was, because I have no friends and nobody cares... so I just asked and answered for myself.
    My stupid psychiatrist's name was Dr. Lucky, how ironic hahahahaha.
    P.S. Please ask for help if you need it. Not all psychiatrists will be this careless.
    It just takes time to find the right one.
    #pod #poem #madness #mentalhealth #mentalillness #ptsd #selfcare #therapy #trauma @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Hospitals Have Prison Cells.

    You asked me what true bravery was.
    It's remembering this, every side of it,
    stirring it around, culturing it
    like a germ in a petri dish-
    finding it, like a forgotten toy-
    letting it back in to your body and mind.
    Bravery is remembering this:

    The last hospital stay
    that went right through me;
    back when they moved me
    to the cell block beneath everything-
    the patient overflow basement.
    With a locker for my possessions,
    and an overworked staff with eyes
    like cheap razor blades to cut
    all contact from outside society;
    my new world, for the next 24 hours,
    was four off-white walls
    to further warp my sanity,
    and a heavy brown door
    they would not let me close-
    but there was nothing inside anyway,
    just cement bricks,
    one white and painful slab of pillow,
    a flimsy metal bed on wheels
    that twisted my bones out of my skin.

    Waiting for the therapists
    and doctors to assess me-
    for the first 5 hours, there is hope
    I could go home.
    Hour 6 comes with tears, hot tears,
    the tears that flow because you know
    you're trapped.
    My psychiatrist, a tyrant,
    forced an intake on me,
    seeing nothing but scars and not caring
    for the heart. I was a liability, and so
    she threw me away.
    Is survivorship bias
    what made her so Lucky?

    I was the crazed patient
    who didn't make it,
    the one I had seen in others before,
    the screaming one
    they couldn't let leave,
    the one who caused a ruckus
    for everyone else. We were never crazy.
    We were caged in like animals,
    expecting the trauma not to come.

    After hour 7, quiet crying turns
    to bargaining. I beg the nurses
    to let me out, but they-
    at the mercy of the psychiatrist
    I was unlucky enough to find-
    had no authority to open the door.
    They look at me
    with something like sympathy-
    but this happens all the time,
    the begging, the crying, the screaming-
    and they're waiting hungrily
    to get out of this place, just like us.
    They persist as I weep to them,
    the involuntary wailing, the attack
    of chemical tremors erupting
    within my terrified veins- and still,
    they could only do
    nothing to help.

    Hour 8, mom visits after work.
    Tries to get me out, sits with me
    while I sob, makes negotiations
    with the nurses to no avail.
    I was under full control
    of a monster with a medical license,
    and I was not getting out
    until they took me in. Mom,
    she tried her best, but she couldn't
    stay all night, and soon I was alone,
    ensnared in concrete again.

    Hour 12, I tried to sleep.
    I started losing track of the minutes.
    I stared at the walls, it felt like
    all night, with no more crying,
    no more space in my brain
    to process tears, or trauma, or torment.
    I was made of TV static now-
    a dissociated, scheming zombie,
    thinking of ways
    to manipulate my way out
    before I had even gotten in.

    I hardly remember
    the rest of the madness now,
    as if someone else
    had gone through it instead;
    gray matter cloaked in amnesia
    to preserve my body and mind
    from the anguish, protecting me fully
    from someplace inside.

    A bed was finally made for me-
    upstairs, the mental health ward
    was ready to take me in-
    but those 24 hours before assured
    that I would never ask for help again...

    The system is rotten to its core,
    the hospitals have prison cells-
    but bravery is remembering
    all the ways it split your soul, and still
    living for recovery, in spite of it all.

  • in_fragments 10w

    Will I ever not be afraid of my shadow selves? Will they ever not be afraid of me?
    #pod #poem #villanelle #brain #mind #fun #therapy #recovery #dissociation #ptsd @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Childlike Eyes
    Fear Not The Mind's Size

    I'll find what I seek through more childlike eyes,
    scared of the inward signs for far too long;
    teach them to play with, fear not the mind's size.

    Like broken toys, I'll repair and analyze
    the fractured memories I always wished were wrong.
    I'll find what I seek through more childlike eyes...

    Those parts hidden away, familiarize
    them with the outside, tell them they belong,
    teach them to play with, fear not the mind's size-

    and the inner world, where the past is organized;
    instead of busting in, pitchforked and pronged,
    I'll find what I seek through more childlike eyes...

    Once arduous work, now we realize
    the brain's our plaything, although unduly strong;
    teach them to play with, fear not the mind's size.

    Traumatized, the answers why will surprise
    when I finally learn how to lark along;
    I'll find what I seek through more childlike eyes,
    teach them to play with, fear not the mind's size...

  • obscuredwords 11w

    Every smile, every laugh, every happy person has unimaginable pain beneath, just beacuse you cannot see it doesn't mean it does not exist.
    They laugh, loud and hard because they know these moments are rare, just because they have accepted their pain.
    You want them to feel that pain again and again, you become a beautiful reminder of every failure in their life, you question their happiness. You tell them they shouldn't be happy.

    But this is what you don't understand, that they have seen that part of life which was painted black, and now, they see all the colours in the sky.

    #depression #anxiety #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #love #sad #mentalillness #selfcare #ptsd #mentalhealthmatters #selflove #life #therapy #recovery #quotes #depressed #healing #motivation #stress #suicide #health #help #mindfulness #covid #pain #sadness #wellness #trauma #smile

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  • mighty_are_the_fallen 12w

    Where I'm from

    I am from somewhere closed,
    Like lids to boxes,
    A place waiting for a push,
    To let everything spill free.

    I’m from broken dreams and cursed things,
    Lies and family I never wanted,
    Things I never needed,
    Names I'll never speak.

    A place where grass grows too well in patches,
    Barrel lids in the yard,
    Bags in the freezer.

    A place where I leaned against the door too hard,
    Holding the handle too tight,
    Later smelling the copper on my hands,
    Stained to my soul like a streak of white.

    A place that tasted of tears,
    A place that tasted of screams.

    The feeling of adrenaline,
    Listening to the floorboards.

    Yellow bottles,
    Chalky taste.

    A deep humming,
    A sound you hear in horror movies.

    Is that gas?

    Stains on the carpet,
    What happened here?

    Static in my lips,
    Where did it go?

    A name I don't recognize,
    Who is she?
    Where I’m from is dead,
    Another green spot in the yard,
    Another bag in the freezer,
    Another stain in the carpet.

    It is a name I do not know,
    Pictures that are not mine,
    Faces I don’t remember,
    Smells that make me ache.

    I come from a place I will never returne,
    A place I leave to nightmares.

  • in_fragments 13w

    When the bad thoughts are back but you make them ��✨fantastical���� to cope.
    #pod #poem #mentalhealth #depression #trauma #ptsd #selfcare #therapy #thoughts @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Renaissance Falls
    Part 2

    And that's the beauty of death,
    you see- no more thoughts,
    no more movements,
    no more sentient slaughter
    and cognitive dissonance-
    with the parasites gone, the earth
    can return
    to her most wild and wondrous; vivid,
    vigorous and picturesque,
    re-birthing and healing in every moment.
    Artless and more marvelous
    than anything any human being
    could make; more lush than what we saw
    in picture books and our imaginations
    as children- landscapes of praise
    we're unwittingly conspiring against
    by flood and fire- through corruption
    and stagnation, apathy and bloodshed-
    to make sure we will never
    feel the peace
    and tranquility of nature again.

    The earth will thrive
    once all her oppressors die,
    when there's no one to hurt her
    for their convenience anymore.
    She will have her own
    universal Renaissance,
    the one she has always deserved,
    that we thwarted many centuries ago.
    She cares not for all
    the unsuspecting species
    we will inescapably take with us
    into the realm of extinction;
    she furiously readies herself
    to shake all sycophants off her back,
    while we continue to kill parts of her
    so carelessly- soul murderers
    to the highest degree, and what
    is this all in pursuit of, really?
    This life, these poet's hands, this love
    I have for you- this art, an education,
    this looking forward to a future
    that may or may not exist-
    when the only thing we seem
    to really be moving ourselves
    and the planet towards
    is complete hostility
    and total disintegration?

    I was the stone queen.
    I watched the world fall to its knees,
    and never said a thing.
    I was weak. I was a villain,
    an ancient, empty goddess,
    an enchantress made of stone,
    finally throwing herself to the ground-
    shattering the life and love and hope
    out of her cracked and weary shell
    while everyone else continues
    to shatter the sanctity of life
    on a global scale.
    I am tombstone now, a hard-hearted
    human no longer. What else was I
    ever supposed to be?

    Does no one seem to see what I see?
    Humanity, and its legacy:
    wreckage, weaponry, zealotry, gluttony,
    agony- it all culminates
    in the stony, splintered remains of me;
    tired of fighting and living just to flee,
    anxiously desiring nature's ire
    to set me aflame, and set me free!