I forget about it most of the time
But then I hear a door slam
Or a glass break
And I'm thrown back into the tidal wave
Reaching
Grasping
Begging
To make it back to shore
Nena 1d
The thing about mental illness is that you aren't depressed enough, sad enough, bad enough. Nobody cares until you reach their standard, and that standard is bad enough to effect them
Em 1d
I'm sorry ...
Sorry for letting everyone
Walk all over you
Like a piece of trash

Sorry for making you feel like trash
As if you're nothing more
Than a slave
To the life I've made for you

Sorry that you cry
When the anxiety becomes too much
But sorry that I hide it
The second someone comes that could help

I'm sorry
That I made someone like you
Not want to live
With anxiety
Like a slave
Like a piece of trash

Like a human being
What I feel talking to myself right now would be like ...
Clyde 2d
Dawn, disappointingly,
shines through my window
sheets are cold, but
my bed is warm
those are the only sensations
I fell, if only for an instant,
just enough to realise I'm still here
but not long enough to appreciate my life
then, they come
in force, one after the other
a non-stop battery
of cures
insultes
illogical and supportive thoughts
permanently fixed in their unsuportiveness
always negative, relentless
to the point of numbing
the bliss of feeling nothing
overwhelmed by the information given
to tired to process it all

Getting out from under there is hard
the monuments challenge that I,
after years of training, still find hard
and so, out I go
slowly, dragging
like a phone on constant low battery
my legs dance beneath me for balance
my mind in a haze
then, I face
someone I know
from my past or present
and I, out of fear, disappointment,
and cause that's all I've know
engage my auto-pilot
and just like that, it works
because it's believable
because it's as face value
because in our hectic life where we're raised to consider ourselves
and put ourselves at the highest of peaks
because every sacrifice has a price
because no one wants to cut deep enough
because everyone's scared to make the first step
because add the end of the day
people only really care about themselves
taking the quickest route
of minimalist of effort,
but the highest of gain
cause it's easy, it's safer
because being comfortable is so safe
cause that way, you save yourself
and not get contaminated
though misery loves company
it's the poet's muse after all
yet lending an ear
it the equivalent of a fart:
a warning is given, but
no one wants to stay around to smell it

So now, when night comes again,
after a day of fakenes
of routine, drilling though
just another day
where nothing changes and everything remains the same
I'm exhausted, drained
too much to process
too dishearted by these thoughts
to move, to feel, or love
with so much going on
that my mind jams
my back stiffens, shoulders tense
the cold sheets becomes welcoming suffering
unchanging, present, stable
the only consistency I've known
for so many years

And as I close my eyes,
they play their evil tune
all over again a-new
and I pray for them to go away
I shout, I scream, I cry, I beg
I fight with everything I have
but with reserves depleted,
it's not enough.

So I drift into a comfortable numbness
waiting, hoping, praying
that tomorrow
never comes.
B Irwin 2d
Connected by one stem,
Two wholes glistening together
Red in the warm spring sun.
I lower them to my lips,
And consume the both whole.
I pick the empty stem
And tie it in my mouth.FV
You bought me cherries,
every holiday.
I was never allowed to eat too many
But on that day I could have as many as I liked.
The day you died, I was tongue tied.
Everyone picked me up from school,
And I thought it was just because of Valentines Day.
But on the day that love usually comes, love left.
When I tried to wear red to your funeral,
My mother scolded me.
She said it was the devils color.
At the funeral, I was so mad you had left me.
I felt forgotten.
Afterwards, they presented me with a gift.
They had found them in your fridge.
Shining in the warm spring sun, I felt you with me.
Connected by one thread,
Two souls glistening together.
my camera hadn't moved
but the lenses did
just like my eyes hadn't shifted
but my mind would continue
to follow
my soul
as it flew
out the window
of the padded room
Depression is a blanket,
A place to rest my head.
It hurts when I am somber,
But won't hurt when I am dead.
I am not my illness, my illness isn't me but yet I wonder who I would be without it living inside of me.
Are we afraid to let it go, afraid of the person we do not know.
I have forgotten what it feels like not to carry it around with me.
So yes I'm scared, scared to be free because what if I am my illness and my illness is me.
Why am I tense in public?
I don't know
Why am I scared in the open?
Why am I just as scared of small places?
Why do I want to vanish?
I've never known

When the reality is that
I'm simply confused chemicals

I wish and I wish and I wish
I could see the world the typical see
I want the love I cannot find

And I

Wish and I wish and I wish
That the levels sound normalized
The reality is sometimes
I am confused all the time til time
Runs out

We're on the way
We're on the way,
now
SB Feb 16
By now you know I’ve moved on from your ways;
Eaten by your cruelty, my soul is gone;
A tear is shed by many night and day;
The extent that you’ve hurt us is far too long.

A flame holds it’s wick when a strong wind blows;
Just air it holds onto to feed its life;
Of all things here, it’s the only thing that glows;
Some are burned by the flame, pain like a knife.

However, it’s gone eventually.
Give or take time, when the wax does melt,
Races are then finished essentially,
A pain you inflict but have never felt.

Can I ask you this while you’re still around?
Enter here, I’ll make sure you’re never found.
This poem is written in memory of my friends Beata, Josh, and Grace in which I lost to suicide.
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