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Forget your past
Forget your bad memories
Great teachers
Often tell
So you remember
Bad memories
You need
To forget
Your efforts to forget
Turn out
Efforts to remember
You find
Each and every memory
inexhaustible
It's a real curse
Forget your past
Forget your bad memories
Great teachers
Often tell!
Scientific evidence is there that it is possible to block bad memories. You can consult a psychologist and/or a psychiatrist if need be. Best is not to make conscious efforts to forget bad memories. Practice meditation and yoga. Bad memories wouldn't be erased. But associated torturous emotions are set at rest giving relief.
In line online come
Patients of mind and heart
She treats them
With tact and heart
Ardent use of psychotherapy skills
Healing them of agonising miseries
Worse than physical pain and suffering
She is Penn State returned
Engineer turned psychologist, psychotherapist
Mental health world over
Her greatest concern
Andrew Rueter Jan 2018
I am the pretender
You must precensor
When I'm an inventor
Who can't get centered
I'm the apologist
You're the psychologist
We have a suitable deal
You provide an even keel
And cook delicious meals
And let my fingers feel
But you do so much more
Going deeper than the shore

You make a difference
By insistence
I see your footprints
In the distance
They lead me to progress
My mind cannot process
Those things I can't fathom
You effortlessly grab them

You were my bastion of behavior
I thought you were my savior
You're more like Charles Xavier
Controlling my mind
To keep me blind
By taking my vision
When you make your incision
And put me in prison

You're Sigmund Freud
On steroids
You fill my void
Then get annoyed
You cured me of my madness
Yet instilled sadness
When I got addicted to your healing
But then heard your tires peeling
After all your analysis
You deemed me talentless

You used to be my example of what to be
Now you're my example of what to flee
You made me hate the number three
While running my car into a tree
Which made me scream ouch
My ejection from your couch
So I hide in my palace
And drink from a chalice
Filled with mindless malice
While holding my phallus
But I learned my lesson
One last confession
Someone that can calm my brain
Can also leave a permanent stain
MalakF Jul 2018
Sadness isn’t a sickness but I think I’m coming down.
Doctor, doctor I no longer want to be around.
All that I seem to do is constantly breakdown.
Doctor, doctor I think it’s time for me to go.
Cancel my next appointment, I won’t be here tomorrow.
Doctor, doctor you say that sadness is in fact a sickness,
yet you aren’t advising me on how to fix this.
Michael Ryan Apr 2018
I imagine a therapist office
as they are lavished in on tv shows
and they're not really like that;
instead of a cozy dimly lit office
it's a white wall maze.

As my doctors
are not private ones
and they surely disclose
all about me
to the insurance company.

I can't help, but twiddle my thumbs
and wonder about the
cries for help
that linger on these paisley painted
dry walls--
snickered with inpersonal
portraits of strangers;
that probably wish
they hung in one of those
elegant, brash, and luxurious offices on tv.

Or maybe instead
the paintings longingly wish
to be dead as well--
instead of being
in this subservient storehouse
that is standing in for an therapist office.

Getting up from another stand-in
this rash beast of dull coloured dust;
calling it a chair would insinuate people
are supposed to sit there,
but I assume
it's true purpose is for the ill-ful
to find something uglier than life itself.  

Leaving through another betrayal
that existence couldn't be more lame
is a doorway with the most faux of all possible doors;
it's screaming "nobody ever cut down a tree to make this".

Slipping past another door (eye role)
I come to be in the same room,
but this space is two faultering steps to the left.  
And instead of dust everywhere
it's a mobbish moss melancholy
that distastefully lingers
in my personal office's air.
Giving help, but needing help.  Can you receive help if you already know what they will say.
lulu Oct 2016
He is safe. He is happiness. He is everything.
He takes away the anxiety. He takes away the hurt. He takes away the pain.
He makes you love yourself. He makes you feel like you aren’t alone.
He keeps away the nightmares.
He holds you. He tells you all the things you need to hear. He pushes you to be a better person.

Without him you are afraid. Without him you are unbearably sad. Without him you are nothing.
Without him you are anxious and bed ridden. Without him you are ridden with depression. Without him you are in constant psychological pain.
Without him you hate yourself. Without him you are alone and always will be.
Without him you have nightmares and sleep paralysis that never seem to end.
Without him you are cold. Without him you are no longer pretty- you are no longer anyone’s favourite person; you are no longer loved. Without him you’re an awful person and no one wants to be around you.


He is security. He is life. He is air.
He makes you do things you never thought you could.
You aren’t afraid to be with him. He makes the voices go away. He makes the paranoid feelings less intense.
You can touch him without feeling like you’re having a heart attack. You can kiss him without feeling like you’re going to faint. You can lay with him and not feel like something bad is going to happen.

Without him you are lost. Without him you want to die- there’s nothing keeping you here but him. Without him you can’t breathe; you feel like you’re drowning- suffocating, always.
You’ve always been afraid of anyone with romantic feelings towards you. You’re always afraid of people touching you or kissing you or anything that relates to intimacy- but you’ve never felt that with him. There have never been heart palpitations. There have never been anxiety ridden shakes and hot flashes. You’ve never felt faint around him. You crave his kisses- you want him to hold you.
Without him you’re afraid of everyone and everything. You never leave the house. You never go see friends. You’re too scared to live your life- you’re too afraid to die. You barely exist.


*But worst of all- without him, you’re left alone to have to deal with me.
Without him, us voices come back to taunt you and we’ll never go away.
|| " a paranoid schizophrenic who suffers with codependency issues, anxiety and borderline personality disorder"
Viseract Aug 2016
It's hard to tell your friends when you're feeling pretty bad
And elaborate on the situations that have made you sad
It's even harder to tell my Father just yesterday I felt like dying
Yet flawlessly and effortlessly I can tell my Psychologist without trying

It's ****** isn't it? That I trust a stranger more than the family
I grew up with, lived with, the worst parts of a better me
Some days I look around and ask myself if I am proud of
What I have achieved and whether or not it is enough

Satisfaction from the parts where I know I've done well
Disappointment at the aspects that will **** me straight to Hell
So I question life, I wield a knife, makes me so depressed I self-harm
So now you know why I bear the scars, up and down my arm
very true, I try not to lie. I like to think myself an honest man
Viseract May 2016
It went like this:

Wouldn't talk, not even about my problems
There were so many options to help me solve them
But I missed them all, blinded by hurt
A hurt I didn't welcome, a hurt I didn't deserve

Bullied by kids with bigger problems than mine
So I came up with my own helpful design
I'd cause my own pain, over and over again
Because, after all, no pain no gain

But all I gained was a real bad habit
A real bad habit that stopped me feeling like ****
So I thought it was good, I mean cuts heal
But they heal into scars, not part of the deal

I just wanted something I could handle
But now, unfortunately, they became visible
Questions, questions, from family and friends
I though, Oh God, does it never end?

And guess what?
I still said nothing
Now look at me
Three hundred turns of the cycle later
Now I'mma see a psych and be a fixed psych-o
A really bad cycle... if nothing is said, nothing gets done
Viseract May 2016
A grey and rainy day
A day to wash away the pain
Clean the slate before fate decides
The pain is here to stay

A person to specialise in fixing my problems
When I myself have trouble trying to solve them
A psychologist for someone as messed up as me
Can they really fix it?
Well I guess we'll see

I got so much anger
Yeah it's balled up deep within
Massages don't do **** for me
It's deeper than the muscles under my skin

It's all up in my mind
And a part of my anatomy
Can you really fix my anger
When it's coded in my chemistry?

I'm not too sure
But I really hope it works
Because if it doesn't I'll probably collapse
Either that or go bezerk

Down the other alley
Is a depression so deep
You can almost taste the water when
You're drowning in your sleep

But asleep or dead
I know it's all up in my head
Every problem can be solved with time
Rather than force the end

The problem with me is
Whilst I can write
Talking to others about my problems
Is probably my hardest fight

So hopefully I work well
With my new psychologist
And hopefully she doesn't become
An anger antagonist
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