Writing has always been my passion and my therapy. I am far from the best, but I am getting better.

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  • squeaker 3w


    I wish I could cry blood
    Perhaps then, the tears could speak my pain.
    Falling ever slower down flushed cheeks of rage
    Never again to be hidden by the rain.

    ©Eryn Ricketts

  • squeaker 5w

    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

  • squeaker 6w

    ~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

  • 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

  • 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

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

    ©Eryn Ricketts