#mentalillness

2396 posts
  • faceless90 2w

    All Knowing Killer

    The omniscient ghost with it's Christian hopes knows oblivion's close, but won't mention the crows coming into the slopes to initial the bones of the miserable souls that are withering slow.
    ©faceless90

  • myabea 2w

    bathroom breakdown

    looking in the mirror
    i don't know how to feel
    can't stop asking "is this fake or real?"
    my reflection is blurry
    as tears stream down my face
    i just want to love her but there's so much hate
    ©myabea

  • faceless90 2w

    New Hellions

    Newly revived I exhume the demise that has truly defined me to mute it with lies I've construed in the mind that acutely was blind because muses of mine were rebuked by the cries of mutants inside of my beautifully bright unusual eyes that soon will be mine.

    Never again will these hellions exist in my temporal crypt before belting out hymns the angelicals sing in the heavens while sins they repent for begin to beget what they give.
    ©faceless90

  • dc_writes 4w

    I cry a river
    I drown
    I awaken
    I swim

    Repeat.


    ©dc_writes

  • sleepysadpoet 6w

    A Sestina From the Sick and the Tired

    If you could tell your story, what would you write?
    I’d write about the things that make me sad.
    I’d scream to the world that I’m sick.
    Tell my therapist that I wish I could have stayed asleep.
    Explain to my boyfriend, “I’m happy, I’m just tired.”
    I’d tell my boss the real reason I couldn’t come into work.

    I can’t call in sad to work.
    I know that realistically, I’ll be alright.
    My brain is just making me tired.
    Maybe if I get some rest, I won’t be sad.
    If I could, I’d spend the rest of the week in a deep sleep.
    At least then, I wouldn’t feel so sick.

    It’d be easier if I were just physically sick.
    I’d have a small break from being overworked.
    Physical illness gives me an excuse to sleep.
    I could dream about the books I’ll never write.
    If I’m asleep I can’t feel sad.
    If I’m not awake I can’t be tired.

    I want to feel something else, that isn’t so goddamn tired.
    I want to be something that isn’t sick.
    Why are you always so sad?
    I’d take my meds if they would work.
    Maybe then I’d have a story to write.
    But instead, I’m awake, I can’t fall asleep.

    I couldn’t tell you the last time I got 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
    Even with 8 hours, I still wake up tired.
    I’d sell my soul for it, get it in writing.
    Someone told me once that being sad can make you sick.
    I can’t call in again, too sad to work.
    You always seem so sad.

    I don’t even really have a reason to be sad.
    I can’t be sad if I’m deep in slumber.
    Depression isn’t a valid excuse to miss work.
    I’d be happier if I wasn’t exhausted.
    Mental illness is a valid sickness.
    I still don’t have a story to write.

    My story will be left unwritten.
    The ramblings of the mentally sick.
    It’s hard to care about anything when you’re so tired.
    ©sleepysadpoet

  • thefangirl 6w

    എനിക്ക് എന്നെ തന്നെ മനസിലാകുന്നില്ല. പിന്നെ എന്തിന്റെ പേരിലാണ് മറ്റുള്ളവർ എന്നെ മനസിലാക്കണം എന്ന് ഞാൻ ആഗ്രഹിക്കുന്നത്.
    ©thefangirl

  • drifting_soul 7w

    Please

    Don't you see just how bad I'm spiraling
    Come on you can't be that nieve to think
    That I smoke everyday cause I'm pleased with my life You can't think that I barley leave the house and never go out spending my life waisiting it away babysitting for someone who doesn't even appreciate me
    Don't you see all the ways I'm silently screaming
    All the times I've tried to get you to listen to me
    To see me
    Don't you see I'm drowning slowly
    Don't you hear me screaming
    As your watching like it's a movie
    Please I'm begging just reach out your hand and save me I know I don't seem like I'm worth saving but mom I promise I wont be a disappointment
    I promise I'll be anything you want me to be
    Please just help me get out of the water
    Please just save me before my lungs are to tired to continue breathing and my body is to tired to continue fighting
    ©drifting_soul

  • kaach_ka_panchi 7w

    A lot of you are products of broken homes, abuse and neglect.
    Surrounded by fakes and imperfections.
    Suffer from such a trauma.

    But Talk about that, whatever it is.
    Don't let some thoughts fool you.
    invest in therapy.

    Self-destruction is not cute.

    ©kaach_ka_panchi

  • ananias 9w

    Chaos and Emptiness
    All is caprice. They love without measure those whom they will soon hate without reason.

    —Thomas Sydenham, 17th century physician

  • drifting_soul 9w

    Intense emotions take over my brain taking control of my body breaking down anything left of my sanity slowly ripping apart every good thing left in me leaving me to be nothing but a shell of a human being
    No soul or hope left just a heartbeat
    ©drifting_soul

  • keatsazla 10w

    Ghost Of The Fast

    by Keats Azla

    Hollow cheeks; forming
    around in my desperate attempt
    at facing the gnawing,
    sick and darkest

    Depths of the very
    shadow, who ominously follows
    my every step and slips
    A bluish-purple woman,

    Skin sagged from its tiny body;
    her dead sunken eyes stares
    blankly at me, A cold, sinister
    shiver sends to my fragmenting spine

    Fear creeps in my desolate
    stomach, it intensifies exponentially
    when a ghost of a smile slowly formed
    on her sickly-looking face.


    ©keatsazla

  • drifting_soul 10w

    Deprive me of the love I craved
    Cause I was strong enough for you.
    To not be there or so you claimed
    But how was I strong when I was begging
    For your love your time,
    An ounce of acknowledgement that I was worth your time but I never was; was I?
    Even now a conversation is to much to ask
    But pretend I can go to you with my deepest secrets
    As if your live was a revolving door that I always had access to but in reality it was broken rusty would only budge when you where feeling guilty and then only for a second it feels as is I matter to you as if for once in my whole life I'm being seen just to go invisible all over again until eventually I let no one in
    ©drifting_soul

  • jkemac 10w

    A glass a day keeps the problems away #mentalillness

    Read More

    Temporary Highs

    I sip a drink
    Throat is alight 
    My eyes close
    I exhale a deep sigh

    Endorphins rush in

    And for a minute,
    I feel like him
    Burdens become light
    I smile looking at my drink

    Yes, everything feels alright
    ©jkemac

  • faceless90 11w

    Multiplicity

    While attempting to tame each identity caged in this vessel I break as adrenaline drains.
    Defenseless I face the terrestrial slaves as they trek through the waves of my peccable brain.
    Incomprehensible pain is excessive as they all conceptually plague my once sensible state.
    Once perception is slain and all temporal traits have been mentally raped only flesh shall remain.
    ©faceless90

  • drifting_soul 11w

    Moment are all we have
    To hold onto
    To cherish when we are low
    When the world feels like it's against you
    And everyone feels like an enemy to you
    The moments that comfort you shall replay in your head and you will remember all we used to be
    And all the love you had in me
    In the times where you feel alone
    You feel like you don't have a place to calm home
    I hope you remember the moments you had with me
    And what could have been your family
    I hope you remember the moment when you left me and chose to leave what could have been your home what could have been your place of peace in a the chaos for a life of unloyalty and unhappiness
    When you think of all the moments where my arms felt like home and my lips feel enchanting I hope you remember all you lost when you chose someone who wasn't me
    ©drifting_soul

  • drifting_soul 11w

    My Skelton is faulty
    And so is my brains wiring it went wrong somwhere
    Along the line and now I suffer the repercussions
    My body is my worst enemy and my mind is always reassuring me of that
    It's also the only one who's truly there for me
    It's the mostly critical of me but the most loyal too
    But how loyal can it be when it spend every day trying to convince me no one loves me
    ©drifting_soul

  • rhoswen 13w

    Just a Child

    The sunlight peeks
    into his bedroom.
    It's Morning, It has begun.
    His eyes wide open,
    His mind is in overdrive,
    His body steady at warp speed.
    Hitting,
    Throwing,
    Running,
    Screaming,
    Jumping,
    It never ends.
    Stop! Wait!
    He's just a child.

  • rhoswen 13w

    <The Dark Sea>

    You can stare
    down, directly
    into a silent black abyss.
    But you could never truly know,
    or understand,
    or feel,
    the depths of it's darkness,
    the pain of it's isolation,
    or the sadness of it's existence,
    Unless, you too, lost at sea,
    sank and drowned,
    by it's tragic hand,
    and it's cold evil grip.

  • in_fragments 14w

    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

    Read More

    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

  • b_gotti 17w

    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