#mentalIllness

2380 posts
  • in_fragments 4d

    Yay for lifelong medical battles... cancer... autoimmune diseases... bloodwork and hospital appointments since childhood... at least I'm turning it all into something creative that feels worth something now. I'm not just a guinea pig anymore.
    #pod #poem #blood #work #medical #trauma #thoughts #mentalhealth #mentalillness #selfcare #recovery @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Blood Work

    A tourniquet, tied tightly
    around my arm once again
    as I squeeze my fist
    to find the perfect vein-
    tap it, watch it rise
    to the surface of my skin like a wire;
    clean the spot with alcohol,
    look away and prepare
    for the thousandth little pinch
    of the familiar and stoic needle...

    Blood pulls away from me
    into the doctor's long glass tubes-
    their syringe fills up with vibrant,
    vermillion liquid, sloshing up fast.
    I feel it pushing out of me,
    red soda sucked through a straw
    between two thirsty lips;
    after so many decades,
    the flow is recognizably rhythmic
    and draws the sanguine fluid out
    on beat; a little heart force,
    a pulsating sensation
    in the soft side of my right elbow-
    a little bit of draining, all up my arm;
    a piece of life being tugged away
    from me, later be used to create me.

    Switch out another cylinder,
    until I watch them fill up three-
    cover the spot with a cotton pad,
    with the needle still inside,
    then taken quickly out
    just as easily as it came in.
    There is an art to drawing blood,
    and every three months
    I am required to collaborate
    to create my own clean
    hemoglobin masterpieces-
    for under microscopes
    and through test tubes,
    you can measure every chemical
    and mutation inside, monitor
    the uncontrolled cells that make up
    your own personal madness.

    From now on, the needle is my pen,
    turning chronic illness into creativity,
    another long and deep well
    to draw from.

    My dried life force lies
    in between pages and poems,
    betwixt the tiles of childhood bathrooms,
    stained on old long sleeves.
    Emotions linger like dust
    in the silent spaces
    between language and thought.
    I am not gone. I have been in
    and out of test tubes for decades,
    in biohazard bins all across the coast,
    seen only by a privileged few
    who were smart enough to handle me.

    My artwork is the real blood work,
    the pen can suck me through it
    like a tiny medical needle
    and I spill my truths all over the canvas.
    You need blood to create art,
    so for the rest of my life,
    as I give myself continuously to tubes,
    and machines and medications
    and disorders- a lifelong battle,
    I've accepted my fate;
    the art is the only channel
    I have ever had for all that blood.
    A pen is a needle, gliding across
    white paper like skin,
    pushing words in with sharp tips
    that protrude from the page like veins.

    For my sanity, it's all the same to me.
    ©in_fragments

  • eishasarkar 1w

    Mad & Moonly: Book 3 of The Goa Saga by Eisha now on Amazon

    In the third and final installment of The Goa Saga, Saysha discovers that she has inherited a $25 million trust fund and a 2% shareholding in Lebedinsky Mining Company. That empowers her to vote and decide the fate of the $780 million company. One man is out there to stop her, her mother's old classmate from Delhi and the largest shareholder in Lebedinsky Mining, Oleg Oblonsky. And only one man can fight Oleg, the twisted genius of her husband, Aeram. She teams up with him and goes to New York to vote in a critical board meeting that will decide the fate of their property and river in Goa.

    Aeram's demons take over his mind and he forcibly kisses Saysha in a park and tells her to remain his wife. Repulsed by his insanity, he then talks of ending his acting career and also his life. James tells Saysha that he cannot leave his brother ever and should she consider marriage to him, she will have to also live with her ex-husband under the same roof. Saysha has the difficult choice of whether she should marry a courageous man like James but remain second on his list of priorities after his brother or should she find a cause of her own and devote her lifetime and funds to it?


    Mad & Moonly https://www.amazon.in/dp/B09J2L2VVY/ref=cm_sw_r_apan_glt_AYYBYA9WHQY1Z09NE55N
    ©eishasarkar

  • faerie_fox_poetry 1w

    Hold

    How do
    I hold you
    With hands
    That are not
    Always my own

    ©KNL

  • drifting_soul 1w

    I miss the days when life used to mean something
    When it was messy and loud
    And it felt like a crowd
    I miss when I used to be someone
    Have people around who needed me for more than at home therapy
    I miss when I didn't have to rely on weed to be happy
    And when all my friends actually liked me
    I miss the feeling of being okay
    I guess what I'm trying to say is I miss who I used to be and hate the person looking back at me
    ©drifting_soul

  • drifting_soul 3w

    Be honest

    Can I just be honest
    For a split second I need to express all
    My feelings cause I've been holding then in
    For a while and if I'm honest lately every night
    Before I fall asleep I've been hoping I don't wake up the next morning and I haven't been feeling like myself for a while I'm just a shell of who I used to be
    And I can't help but think no one likes who I've come to be no one needs this person I become so if I can just be honest and let my walls go im diving inside and I've never felt more alone when does it get better please someone tell me cause it just keeps pilling and pilling it's never ending
    ©drifting_soul

  • drifting_soul 3w

    Monster

    At this point I don't even know if in dead or alive
    Is my heart still beating or is that the sound of my head pounding from drowning in the darkness the demons let in
    Am I dead or alive
    Maybe something in between
    A kind of monster no one has ever seen
    The kind of person I said I would never be
    Someone no one really needs
    ©drifting_soul

  • drifting_soul 3w

    Why don't you believe me

    Momma I gotta ask
    What did I do to not deserve help
    Cause I'm at war in my head
    And I barley wanna get out of bed
    I know you see the way it's destroying me
    But you seem to think I'm fine
    Convince yourself I'm fine and it's not really happening but point out
    whenever someone else
    needs help beg for therapy
    and even then it isn't s
    priority but myself and
    even them I'm pretending
    The anxiety attacks I have aren't real
    And the suicidal thoughts don't exist
    I'm supposed to be perfect and happy
    No there's nothing wrong with me
    I just make it up in my head to be like my friends
    ©drifting_soul

  • drifting_soul 3w

    Home

    I can't stop thinking about you
    Your all that's on my mind
    Can't help but dream about you
    I wonder if you do the same
    Do you miss me the way I miss you
    Or am I just apart of your forgot past
    Someone you would rather forget
    I can't stop thinking about you
    Your all that's on my mind
    Day and night I can't help but dwell on who we used to be all of our past memories
    Dreaming of the day where it will all be the same
    Where I'll be in your arms once again
    And I'll finally feel like I found my home all over again
    ©drifting_soul

  • b_gotti 3w

    Tragically Forsaken

               She wears my role like a crown, I watch her ascend. When, while it was mine, we all nearly drown. In the end, I couldn't face putting my son in the ground. So ashes to ashes we all fall down. 

               Into the madness I boldly go. Yes I am a crazy bitch, but this you already know. I am told my reality is not, but a glitch . My kindness for weakness the final blow. Dealing with the cards I have been dealt has given me a twitch. So to cope With emotions I flipped the switch.

                Cold as ice, it is now time to think twice. Emotions now gone my tongue will surely slice. Like a knife straight to the heart, it will rip you apart. The will to care dead from the start. Misery shoots out from my very existence like a dart.

                I see the pain i should feel and try to remain sane, but inside my brain is a black stain. Where nothing is gained. Just darkness scattered by the rain. My emotions stay detained waiting for any control I can regain then actually retain.

                Hours to days then days to weeks. When I finally clear the haze, my outlook is bleak. The ones who are around me seem dazed and weak. Obviously, a battle's been fought and not without high cost. Surrender was sought, but now I am just lost. To the wind caution was tossed.

                 Now alone I stand in my own blood. Blood that soaked the land until nothing is left but dirty red mud. 

                 Nobody to care. Nobody who would dare love the girl with a devoided blank stare. Nobody to see inside she's bare but they also miss how, honestly, her courage is rare as is her persistence against despair. 

                  When all is said and all is done I will have to answer for all of the blood. It will be me who is to answer for the death of my son, and it will not matter how many horrific battles I have won. My judgment at the end of days will come down to the perception, of only one.  

                  My faith is broken from too many times of him ignoring the desperate prayers I have spoken. I can not make myself believe all the words in the Bible because, it's man who wrote them. So the fires of hell are waiting for me. Listen. Even now I hear my demons stoke them. It was always going to end that way it is not like I provoked them.

                   Since birth I have always felt forsaken. All happiness in my life is eventually taken. By God's will, or was it really satans? Inside my self was the only place I have ever felt strength in. Turns out, that is the place I went when my mind was breaking. Though even there I could feel my soul shaking and feel all the immense pain my body was in.

                   Could his evil have truly found me when I was the young age of 3? If so, where was God's love then to save me? Why has it never found me or set me free? 

                   As I feel satans horn push deeper inside, he stays astride. I know there is not a place on earth I can hide. I can not help but wish, I'd never been born. That way I'd have never felt my soul being torn or hold the knowledge that due to my scars, It's my dead child I'll always mourn. Who's to decide if I should stay alive? What if the guy with the crown of thorns never meant for me to survive? 

                   Until fate decides what is to be my destiny, here I will remain faithful to my misery. Living a life of banditry. Aggressively rejecting what was never meant for me. Forever seeking the love and peace promised to me, by the very same one who forgot it was he, that was supposed to save me. 


    Somebody please set me free.

    ©b_gotti

  • squeaker 5w

    ~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

  • drifting_soul 5w

    Run

    It feels like my bodys giving up on me
    Is there anything left of me
    No one wants me
    So why do I stick around
    My brain has betrayed me
    Turned into my worst enemy
    Or never fails to haunt me
    Tells me to run
    Far far away to a place where no one's ever been
    The place of the none living
    Cause no one needs me on this earth
    So why should I stay
    When everyone knows if I where to
    Disappear and never be seens again
    That truly would be what's best for me
    ©drifting_soul

  • squeaker 6w

    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 6w

    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-
    simultaneously.

    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?
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 6w

    In the poem a mother and father talk to their young, questioning daughter about family life, and say nothing helpful for her growth. Her parents loved her, but they still did everything wrong.
    My name's Michelle. Nicknames in childhood were things like Meesh, Micha, and Meeshee. I find them all infantilizing now, except in certain contexts. We are not children anymore, you will not talk to me like one.
    #pod #poem #song #music #trauma #past #mentalillness @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Little One In The Lion's Den

    "Little Meesh, where are your friends?"
    I got too tired to play pretend.

    "You must try harder, or you'll make me so sad!"
    Is that why you treat me like I'm so bad?

    "She loves you, she just cannot let it show!"
    If I've never felt it, then how do you know?

    "He stays with us because he loves her..."
    His eyes are full of rage and murder...

    "I'm trying to protect you from all that harm!"
    She still handed me off to abusive arms...

    "He attacked you, but it's your fault somehow..."
    I was just a child when he chased me down.

    "I'm sorry darling, it will never happen again!"
    But I know it will, for we are the lion's den.

    "It's time to say goodbye to Precious cat,"
    but you never let me know 'til she was
    caged up for that...

    "Child, you are so loved and SAFE here!"
    Were you plugging up your eyes and ears?

    How did every adult I know fail me?
    "We were only doing our best, Meeshee.
    We kept you clothed, and fed and homed
    so you have no right to take that tone."

    What is it, the tone of self-preservation?
    Not taking your bare minimum as legislation?
    A little girl learning to question her cognation,
    and you're scared, towering over me
    in vexation.
    Congratulations, your best was the worst!
    You couldn't even keep me coerced
    into thinking this was all dispersed-
    not real, made up in my head,
    that I had to live in the abuse instead.

    I don't blame you, the hurt is all you know,
    but you passed it on to forget and forgo,
    and tried to raise children while you were
    sick and slow,
    and said I did something wrong on my own
    when I learned how to hate you
    for stunting my growth.

    Maybe I'll love you wholly in the end,
    but little Meesh is full-fledged, fed up
    and too tired to play pretend.
    ©in_fragments

  • squeaker 6w

    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
    IM RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!!

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

    ©Eryn Ricketts

  • drifting_soul 7w

    Two faced

    Pretend you dont recognize my face
    Like we haven't known eachother since the 6th grade
    Guess they where right when they say loyalty isn't a real thing
    Guess he was right when he said you didn't really deserve me
    Should have listen when they said you where fake
    A little bit two faced
    I hope you go to sleep think about me and all our memories
    Thinking about how lucky you where to have a loyal friend like me
    And how badly you should see you fucked up by loosing me
    ©drifting_soul

  • faceless90 8w

    Maniacal Mindset

    This maniacal mindset will not quiet my mind yet.

    Aside from a psyche den where will I reside when I find myself mindless crying silently quite sick???
    ©faceless90

  • faceless90 8w

    Psychosis

    Losing the sense I have gained from psychosis, I've proven that blessings have traces of doses of evil and wicked yet gracious emotions that lead to the passing of manias motions...

  • in_fragments 9w

    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

  • obscuredwords 9w

    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.

    #positivevibes
    #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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