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Mickey Dec 2020
Oh darling.
My mind.
My mind is killing me.

It is in fact the one and only place in this god forsaken world where I can be safe.
Where I don’t have to belong.
Where everything is possible.
Where I have a place to hide.

But,
It is killing me.
Depression is the swamp monster,
The murk and mud in the water.
It makes it difficult to see the bottom
Or know how deep it goes.
xandra Nov 2020
the hazy atmosphere reflects how sometimes your eyes just-
defocus.
.
as tendrils drip off branches,
they become the worries that manifest in the back of your head,
dancing around the stem of your mind.
.
frigid air mimics the chills you get as you sit on your bed,
staring blankly at a blue-lit screen.
the wind howls with thoughts racing through your mind;
a rain droplet, suspended on the surface are words at the tip of your fingers, frozen,
waiting for release;
permission to plummet to their true place in the world.
.
the mist and raindrops on the window are weight on your shoulders
and periodic piercing stabs in your chest.
.
~wind chill is the waves of sadness
traveling in whatever random intervals~
clouds rolling in and out bring both unease and angst, and silence and solace.
.
but, same as torrential storms, with time, the sadness passes. where your body experiences incredible pangs of hurt, eventually, you’ll feel peace pour over you the way rain covers the world in a crystalline curtain-
.
if i’m honest, i think rainy days embody aspects of
dissociation and/or depression
really well
Brianna Duffin Nov 2020
If Depression conducted traffic
The way it controls most other things
People wouldn't judge my driving nearly as much
You see, it's not me. It's Depression.
But I can't use that as a valid excuse-
Honestly Officer, I didn't do anything,
Depression was behind the wheel all along.
Depression is a teenage cry for attention,
Not a diagnosis that garners sympathy casseroles
Even though I didn't eat last weekend
Cause I couldn't get out of bed for the life of me.
If Depression managed medication
With all the strict precision with which
It regulates chocolate cravings maybe
My body wouldn't revolt so violently, so frequently
And then maybe I'd be good for something
Without constantly fearing my eyes deceived me.
Here is a sample from my most recent poem, a piece about managing anxiety and depression. The full version is available exclusively on Medium. Check it out here: https://medium.com/@briannarduffin/final-road-trip-1f140fa04be9
He couldn't love me because I was empty
So I injected myself with poison
Until I was overflowing

He couldn't love me because I was toxic
So I slashed my skin
Draining the poisonous blood out of my body

He couldn't love me because I was too unstable
So I took all my meds with a bottle of tequila
I felt my life fade away

At my funeral
He finally loved me
Simply because
I was gone
he finally loved me, simply because I was gone
Meet me among the numbing fields
where the cream narcissus grows.

Where my desperate human voice sings
against the flow of the autumn winds.

Do you hear the pillars of my empathy crumbling?

The wicked Imbolc has passed,
leaving me naked and sick in the light
of longer days.

Yellow-trumpeted blooms of each joss flower
are caught swaying to the emptying sounds
of my apathy.

Where I have been patiently waiting for
the flowering blood of hyacinth.
He is a talking flower with lips
made of curving petals.

Begging to hold his hand - which is a lovely saturation of pollen - is my unknown sunset quietly falling over him.

I never knew I wanted so deeply to feel him, now there seems to exist a safety within my thoughts I never knew possible.

In a way that is purely fantasy,
he spins the world so fast I’ve fallen off it.

Even when he walks he dances,
allowing me to slowly rotate in the vortex of his spirit.

How could I ever show him...

How could I ever let him see,
how he is the sinking throat
of dawn blessing me with vision,
and the medicine of my now fading paranoia.
Michael Ryan Nov 2020
Going in multiple directions
is touted to be better than one;
it's better to have two hands than one,
a double rainbow is twice the taste.

My two ways are
the hard way or no way;
I'm a car that will speed
down the highway going 100mph
to a destination I've never heard of
with a turnout sign that hasn't been made.

I'm a stalled out car on a hill.
I'm a little beater car that should have
been lifted for spare pieces years ago,
but instead of caring for my parts
I've made myself die on a mountain
made out of molehills.

I can drive myself hard in either direction
both of them end up with me digging dirt.
One I'll bury all of my ideals,
and the other I'll dig up all the reasons
I never should have been driving in the first place.
Sometimes I plan to do everything, and other times planning is everything.
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