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my therapist told me that I should
try to imagine my mental illness
in the form of a person.

she said that sometimes
it's easier to fight these things
when they aren't invisible.

she said that maybe
doing this would help me to
remember that I am not crazy,
and that a mental illness is
just as real as a physical one.

she's told me over and over
about the chemicals in my brain,
and how my ****** literally
changed the way that I function.

she told me that he put
my body into a chronic state
of fight-or-flight mode.

she made sure
to use the word "chronic"
and not "permanent."

she makes sure
to remind me that
recovery is possible.

but when I try to picture
my mental illness
in the form of a person,
it has his face.

all of my demons
have his face.
when the therapist asked
about my family history,
I gave her a history lesson.

I told her that growing up,
my house was a war zone.

I don't remember
what year it was, but eventually
the house collapsed into itself.
that trauma left me scared and hurt
with nowhere to go.

my mother moved out first.
she moved straight into
a life of addiction, and then
she found a new house
in the form of a jail cell.

my father also began
to call a jail cell his home.
he moved into the newspaper,
and then into the database of the
national *** offender registry.

now, we have separate houses
and conflicting beliefs.

we don't share anything
besides that story
and our DNA.

I couldn't tell her
about my family history,
because I don't
have parents anymore.

I have no family.
all I have is history.
if you tell me that you want to know
what it’s like to live the way that I do,
I will laugh to myself, because
the truth is you don’t want to know.

you don’t want to live the way
that I live, or feel how I feel.

and even if you did, you can’t.
you can hear about it
and learn about it,
but you can never feel
the way that I do.

don’t keep trying to understand
the way that my mind operates.
don’t keep trying to feel like me.

be thankful that you can’t.

but if you must know,
imagine this:

it’s early in the morning
and you’re at the end of a dream,
or maybe a nightmare.

you’re kind of awake,
but not quite. you’re groggy.
you haven’t gotten out of bed yet,
and you don’t feel like it.

and then you hear your
alarm clock going off,
and you realize, oh ****,
you’re late to work.

you need to get up now
and you know that.
but when you try to,
you suddenly can’t.

you’re stuck in your bed,
unable to even open your eyes.
you’re not paralyzed.
you seem physically fine,
but you’re stuck there.
you have an overwhelming
need to wake yourself up.
you don’t know why you can’t.

you’re stuck in your bed for so long,
you begin to think that maybe
the dream that you’re in is now real.
maybe the real world isn’t there anymore. you can’t think of a logical explanation.
it doesn’t make any sense.

yesterday, you woke up
and got out of bed, and you
made it to work on time.
you were even a few minutes early.
there was no problem at all.

but wait, how long ago
was yesterday?
you don’t know
if yesterday was yesterday,
or if yesterday was a year ago.

you’ve been stuck here,
frozen in your bed while
the earth keeps spinning.
you have no way of knowing
what’s going on
in the world around you.

you know that this feels wrong.
you should’ve been able
to start your day.
you shouldn’t be stuck.

you know that you can’t
be living in a dream.
that’s not possible.

you know you’re not asleep.
you’re wide awake, but you’re stuck.
you can’t scream. you can’t move at all.
you’ve lost control over your body.
you can’t wake yourself up.

imagine that no matter what you do,
you can’t wake yourself up.
Alex Oct 7
I just want to disappear
Or maybe for someone to hear
Or perhaps something to hold dear

But honestly I won't get anything here
Idk i just can't function anymore
I know of the world
But I do not exist in it
Floating in inky black
Enveloping her edges
Devoid of bright
Darker than night
It was my home
To the ends I roamed
Until into that flight
I found a light
Just right
For me.....
Going through some personal changes and just reflecting on how far I've come
sarah grace Sep 27
"how's it going?" she asks.
i stare out the window at the parking lot below,
realizing the inevitability of human toil.
i look up at her and smile,
HippoHelios Sep 20
I wonder: Can the „I“ be fixed whilst being a „we“?
Or will you fix yourself, reducing myself to just me?
Will that, then, be forever so?
Will you take what‘s yours and left of you and go?
I will have neither options nor choices,
I‘ll be stripped of what I value and cherish.
What will be left? Echoes of distant voices
from a fairer past that once was but now did perish.

Most of all I‘ll hope for one thing, should it ever be this way:
That you could master to respect and love yourself; every coming day.
Elicia Hurst Sep 14
A summer dress, perhaps
deserves a summerish redress.

In the witching hour, solitude's domain,
there is naught but
I, and the white-hot eclipse for my eye.

I have one hand beneath your neck,
and another behind your knees.
In these gloves, I will drown and resurrect
my fair dress, one-and-only Sunday Best,
sodium hypochlorite cocktail mess.
My alternative hydrotherapy
is a remedy from my enemy.

You traffic through this well of hell in ease.
A fire drunken on the Lethe.
Deliquesce in clinical scents.

Your skin thrives on the purge,
but mine cannot survive.
Jul 2020
B Sep 11
I've always found comfort
in your darkness.
The cold, heavy shroud
you invisibly drape around me
in times of weakness
and despair.

It feeds on the emptiness
that surrounds my heart and soul
with more and more emptiness.

Nobody can understand
the comfort I get
from this seemingly
unending sorrow.

But alas -
it is only temporary comfort.
Once I let go
of these dark shrouds,
I will finally see
the promise of a
better tomorrow;
but most importantly -
a better me.
Written last 20th June 2020 as one of my therapy assignments from my psychiatrist
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