"diagnosing" poems
I recognized her familiar gait
As she left ambulatory care
At Bluewater Health,
Once St. Joseph's Hospital.
I knew her as a devout care-giver.
Her spring showed her hope
In the gods within,
And faith in her God without.
A surety in her higher power.
I share her faith crossing bridges,
Or waiting for autumn's bulbs
To sprout and flower.
The Sisters have retreated
To the Mother House,
Mission accomplished,
No longer caring
For the sick and worried.
The civilians marched in,
Diagnosing annuities,
Giving change.
The Sisters wait for Pentecost,
For the whosh and whirl
Of expectant miracles
They once ministered.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
what makes you feel granted
manhandling my memories
stirring up my experience
diagnosing with no credentials
gaslighting feelings of fear
forcing to question what happened
mind entering a storm
chaos now runs free roam
flashbacks and dreams
dialogue and overwhelming voices
speaking over another
talking me into a box
leaving me there alone
he pulls the chain around it
and imprisons me with a lock
my teeth chatter when I’m anxious
body starts to shake
hands begin to clench
skin feels wave of heat
and I start to feel faint
stomach tells me I’m in danger
heart throbbing in concert with a clock
my face emotionless and stale
as I try to mask what puts me in more danger
of not feeling collected and vulnerable
trusted if I break a sweat they’ll see
make a sudden movement and touch
touch my soft skin marked with scars
I question which body part is next
as I sit in a freezing shock
that limits my movement
ability to think
and speak
as hands go and *****
I scream so loud
but nobody hears me
I am silent
lips unmoved
internal thoughts crying
there is so much to say
but I can’t get myself to speak
and I want those ***** hands off
but I can’t seem to move
body paralyzed
I start unpacking this to the darkness
never to be opened for my safety
throwing away the feelings
destroying what it felt like
is better than keeping it alive
so please
don’t touch me like that
Aug 2, 2020
Aug 2, 2020 at 3:35 AM UTC
I leafed through the DSM this morning
diagnosing every ******* person in my life
incessent character flaws,
maladaptive responses
that ache in my mind,
and shatter my "normal"
expectancies of human behavior
In all of the descriptors
"has a strong desire to be the center of attention"
"is often inappropriately provocative or sexually seductive"
"Exhibits odd or eccentrive appearance/behavior"
"Seeks excitement and stiumulation, often acting on impulse"
the only person I could really diagnose
was me your therapist
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
he was forty but lied about his age,
told everyone he looked young for his age,
and still shopped at hot topic
he is in late forties now, still thinks he looks young,
and still shops at hot topic
he buys the same stuff that people were buying
in the 80's before hot topic existed
he describes himself as having such a brilliant mind that he is easily bored with people. he is an intj, so this means that he knows everything. he is very intelligent according to the re-occuring craigslist misc. romance ads he has been posting for the last decade.
when he gets inspired, he updates his fetlife profile
(or his ok cupid profile)
i met him when i was too alone, but not numb enough yet
he kept on telling me that depressed people were really just narcissists who couldn't stop thinking about themselves
i couldn't tolerate him, but had nothing else to do, so i had to be drunk and ****** at all times in his presence and i don't drink very often
prior to that i was only a weekend stoner,
but that changed real quick
he made himself too comfortable
and bought me a bob dobbs book for my birthday
because he thought and still thinks bob dobbs is hilarious
he kept on using my bathroom for long periods of time
and bringing the bob dobbs book in with him every time
i told him he could keep the bob dobbs book
but he said, "no, it's more the kind of book that i want to read when i come over and use your bathroom"
so i swallowed the throw up in my mouth, asked him to leave, threw the book away, and never had anything to do with him after that.
shortly thereafter, he started diagnosing me and every other woman who is not attracted to him as having borderline personality disorder via craigslist missed connections and/or his fetlife profile (which i still read for laughs).
then he broke into my apartment through the back door the night before he got married to a woman who needed a green card. i'm not sure why he did that, i'll never know. he broke the door, so it wouldn't shut properly anymore and i smashed my fingers in it once while trying to shut it. my fingernails fell off.
and this is why i have been celibate for the last 7 and half years.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
I.
cold knees.
my thoughts got tangled on your fingertips.
i've been tucking you in the dark creases of my mind.
II.
i'm stuck gazing upon you,
or at least what is left of you. at least.
III.
every sigh you breathe out joins the cold air.
IV.
your eyes holds an ocean of regrets.
your war cry is music to me.
V.
my love for your is a logical fallacy.
and I
put the "art" in breaking hearts.
knotting heartstrings into pretty bows:
bows for the locks of my hair
but possibly also for arrows.
VI.
be the cure that is contagious.
i think my sickness
is just over-diagnosing myself.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
Here is the ballad of Web MD,
Self-diagnosing terminal maladies,
My fatal afflictions linger on,
I'm buying more medical texts from Fishpond.
Let's do our own diagnosis,
Teach yourself self-hypnosis,
My fatal afflictions linger on,
I'm buying more medical texts from Fishpond.
Let's sing our ballad of MD,
Sure we've got terminal maladies,
My fatal afflictions linger on,
I'm buying more medical texts from Fishpond.
That was the ballad of Web MD,
What are today's self-diagnosis,
My fatal afflictions linger on,
I'm buying more medical texts from Fishpond.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
A illness flowin’ like a breeze
Slippin’ in with ease
The African-American Disease
Where the thought of a white man in a
blue uniform makes every black child
weak at the knees
I mean there ain’t no cure
Every 28 hours another black man
dropping to the floor
And I’m not sure how much more we can endure
Cause we ain’t protected
We rejected
Neglected
Disrespected
Not accepted but expected
To sit quiet
So they seem surprised
When we violently riot
But yea it’s nothing new
400 year old news
Nothing’s changed
History’s only rearranged
I would ask you how you would feel
if you were me
But you wouldn't truly know unless our
skin tones were exchanged
A black mother with tears in her eyes
Hearing that her unarmed child
was shot five times
Two times for Martin
Three times for Malcolm
We fought with peace
We fought with violence
But got the same outcome
A black father holds back his tears
Hearing that the murderer was
Sentenced 0 years
With a tap on the wrist
And the chargers cleared
A black child’s fear
That their lives could disappear
At the hands of a man
With a gun and bulletproof gear
A messed up system
Diagnosing symptoms
I’m weak at the knees
The African-American Disease
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
Big crowds
Sweaty palms
White face
Blurry vision
Speaking aloud
Only air
Falling down
Passing out
Hospital nurses
Diagnosing problems
Only one
Social anxiety.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
on a crowded street, my surroundings begin to fade
as everythings blur together, its reality which i evade
gazing past people, off into space
i imagine for a moment that i'm out of this place
only to be brought back with the blink of an eye
to the streets where the blurred silhouettes of people pass me by
with a crowd that big, theres no room for indivduality
i feel like a minuscule pebble lost at sea
going with the flow i grasp at the air
even though i know there is nothing there
i'm lost but i dont want to be found
shouting out but i dont make a sound
diagnosing emotions without definitions
longing for change yet clinging to repetition
in search for solitude, being alone is not my goal
giving up my freedom as a subconcious toll
the darkness of reality mixes with the light of lies
creating a mist that acts as my disguise
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 9:14 PM UTC
I am a magician
as well as the box
it's contents are my organs
and I try to pull them out
show them off
on a happy display
echos of ooo's
aaa's
im doing well
but everyone knows
magic is created
where the heart lives
and where little kids wander
off to the woods
fairy tales i wish i was still
a part of
the routine is fake
like the smile;
it is used for assurance
for others well being
certainly not my own
magic is a placebo
for how I really feel
occassionaly
I get asked
how'd you do it?
but telling will put me back
to the beginning
white coats running everywhere
machines beeping
disinfectant being sprayed
contraptions shoving air
back into my lungs
men with heavy accents
deciphering and diagnosing
and i will wish
magic was in my hands
so one quick flick
and i'd be
gone
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
Your testing my limits
You really don't want to find out where the end of my patience is
I will come after you
You may think your better than me
All because you were raised in a church
But you aren't godly or holy
You go to church
So what?
You are against what God made and you still are
So why do you think your better
You turned a blind eye to everything
You still do
You say I drink way to much through out a day
When I drink maybe 2 or 3 cups of juice, water, or tea
And that's TOTAL in a day...
Your pushing me
I've lost my balance and became dizzy, all while my eyesight left me
And you say it's because I "moved to fast"
B...., stop self diagnosing
You and my ***** father do this to me over and over
You do it with my shaking problem
Where I can't keep my hands steady
Everyone see's it's a problem but you two!
I had a seizure when I was 6, but you won't believe it
I've been shaking ever since, but you won't believe
Even though you see me shaking everyday!
And because I wasn't shaking at 1 point in my life
I apparently only shake when I know someone is watching me.
That's BULL and both of you know it!!!!
When you break me, I'll break you times 3, just as the wiccan creed
So beware of what you do to me
You'll have it be returned on you
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
.Friday the twenty seventh of October at twelve thirty nine PM
-*I am getting worse day to day, meaning that I am sad again. Real sad. Try anti-depressants even though they don't work sad. It's funny that I use that word since really it's empty that I feel . . . Or maybe hopeless. Call it whatever you want.
The thing about it though- is that I don't know who to tell. Half of everyone I know can relate which means no one even cares. I'm guilty of the same thing. "Just keep pushing it'll pass." Right? I love my job, my relationship is good, and we're financially stable. Nothing in my life is going wrong so I can't pass the blame onto some little problem. I spent nine hours cleaning my house on Wednesday hoping that I would feel better. I slept all day Thursday hoping that I would feel better. I wrote it down today hoping that I would feel better, but I don't. I don't feel better. Who am I supposed to call about things like this?
Not my sister because she's run out of things to say. There are only so many times you can be sad for no actual reason and expect someone to say something new. I decline therapy. It's expensive and I don't want to talk about a bunch of things that I've already gotten over, and pills? What are pills? I've been down that road and then down even further for . . ? Nothing. For nothing.
So what am I supposed to do when I'm carrying boxes and suddenly want to hurt myself? I've never been a cutter. Never been a burner. I want the weirdest kinds of pain. I want to snap a rubber band on my wrist or bite myself until I bleed. Crazy **** that doesn't make any sense to me. I work out everyday. I drink water. I bathe. I eat.
Honestly I'm really high functioning. I don't really spend a lot of time talking to other humans anymore, but I can chalk that up to losing my super empath powers I guess. I call it independence but it could just be exaustion. I'm so tired of self diagnosing. I can tell you what's wrong with someone else in thirty seconds flat yet somehow my own sadness continuously baffles me.
I guess it doesn't really matter. I'm not going to **** myself or do something crazy. I used to cheat on my boyfriend or let someone hit me during *** but I've grown out of that kind of stupid behavior. For awhile I was writing essays about how to get through what I'm going through which were awesome for a lot of people but don't help me at all
Maybe I'm doomed to save everyone in the world other than myself. That would make sense since there's nothing I can do about my condition. If that's what I want to call it. So I guess maybe I'm just having a bad time.*
I'm sure it will pass soon.
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
Writers are *****
Writers are ******
Getting high off a mental fix
Arrogant-self-indulgent-I'm-Smarter-Than-You-Narcissists
Diagnosing their own disorders no need for a therapist
Id-ego-super-ego-creating their own analysis:
Buy my book so I can feel (more) important!
Writers are *****
Writers are ******
******* out their minds doing word tricks
self-centered-egomaniacal -lunatics
Buy my book so I can feel (more) important!
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Doctor don't
bother
diagnosing me
because I already
know
that I've caught
an acute case
of lovesickness
for a girl
who can't
be mine,
and the only
medicine
that'll cure me
is heartbreak.
Jul 10, 2022
Jul 10, 2022 at 10:50 PM UTC
My mind and energy flourish between 10 p.m and 6 a.m.
Sleep is a concept to my body that sits on the back burner of the disorder overtaking my ****** systems.
At night is the time I feel alive,
Alone,
Depressed,
Exuberant
Inspired,
Drained,
Awake.
The darker the skies the more open my eyes seem to get.
I race across the internet in my liveliness learning or observing,
And occasionally when I'm on my lows, self-diagnosing.
At night is when my mood shifts from happy to sad
and my thoughts range from beautiful words and pictures to hate and self-loathing.
At night is when I am capable of understanding the mysteries surrounding the concept of living
and at night is when I re-evaluate decisions in my life and change,
for better or for worse.
But all this can only be between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.
When the world is dead and I am the only one experiencing it.
-Alicia Hubert
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC
Treatable, but
incurable.
Take one pill twice a day,
probably for the rest of your life.
There's no guarantee
on how many days, months, years
you've got left.
You could feel fine one week,
then have Death on speed dial the next.
Of course, they tell you the
survival rate is very high.
So you sit there in the dark,
but hey, you're alive, right?
The doctors don't use the word 'terminal'
when diagnosing you.
But, then again, they don't have to.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC
I sit here wearing my perfection suit,
Crying for no understandable reason,
But society doesn't see this,
I cry behind my suit,
Inside my secret world,
In a deserted island,
With shores so high there is no rocket that could reach the land,
With an impenetrable castle,
Inside a small room in the centre,
I sit here hidden from society and I cry,
I cry scared of the judgements filled into my tiny ****** life,
I get up wondering why,
I go to bed staying awake digging a hole of thought to tomorrow,
"But you don't have depression" They convince me for another day,
I'll stay up tonight drawing blood with a pencil,
Writing down my imperfections on my skin,,
If my parents see they assume I'm just copying the rest of society,
So I try to wear my perfection suit,
I'm finding it hard when thoughts are everywhere,
Even with the loudest of music doesn't work anymore,
Bridges scare me now every time I step on one my gears in my head start spinning,
I throw up over the railings unable to hold my emotions in,
I run home as my depression grows and begins tearing my perfection suit apart,
All of those people staring at me,
Judging me and my imperfections,
I run across the street hoping,
Empty,
I run on faster getting rid of the joy of ending it all today,
I run into my house and up to my room,
Alone,
The doctor hands me pills,
I take the bottle and as I leave I place it back on the counter,
So mush me with drugs, therapy, yoga, dance, you can't make my disease go away,
It has infected me,
I am stained with thoughts that will never go away,
So to whom ever tries to "minimize" depression,
Leave them be you only make them think deeper every time you say a word.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
Daddy mistreated you
He let you burn
Your anger towards him
To us, you return
Don't take it out on your children
We're suffering from this
I thought you loved us
Our old mommy we miss
One day things changed
The stress got too much
But now you're so irritated
Even with a touch
You scream and get angry
At everything we do
Mommy what has happened
To the old beloved you?
Somedays your fine
Others you're a mess
You say mean things
That cause us to feel less
You hurt us to the bone
And don't stop there
You continue to scream
And not at all care
I wish you could see
The person you've come to be
You're a mother of five
Please don't take this personally
You're a really great mother
You love us a lot
You've suffered so deeply
For us you fought
But I can't hold it in
You make me want to leave
I know it'll hurt you
It's my thought of pure peace
I love you so much
And I understand your pain
I see what you're going through
We'll all the same
All of us are here
Fighting right beside you
Sometimes it feels
Like your fighting against us
We are your children
We will always care
But you need help
Let your troubles go bare
We want to support you
And help you out too
Don't go against us
We won't go against you
Mommy please understand
That you might be ill
Depression and anxiety
Might be your ****
You're having mood swings
Irrational behavior
I'm not diagnosing you
But your not who you were
There might be something wrong
I can see
Because...
Your not who you use to be.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
If you had one year of love,
and then you had to say adios,
should you be glad or morose?
Sure, if it ends, it’s not what I’d hoped,
we just weren’t destined to be betrothed.
We had fun, we were close and jocose,
we snogged until we practically choked,
and we did ALL the fun things that were gross,
but our forte was that we felt safe, I suppose.
Now, I’m not saying it’s over, but I tend to diagnose things,
and while I wouldn’t say that we love overdosed,
I would guess that we’ve shared more love than most.
Jul 13, 2023
Jul 13, 2023 at 8:26 AM UTC
don't smoke all of those cigarettes they say it'll stain your teeth.
they'll tell you that you have play dough for hands, that you conform to the others.
stained teeth for walls diagnosing me insane.
they'll tell you that when others squeeze your hand too hard you fall apart but you insist it's just a creative way of making yourself become art.
stained teeth for walls diagnosing me insane.
they'll try to train you to be fit into cookie cutters but when you can't seem to fit all of your pieces they detach you anyways but when you inform them that your limbic system has fallen behind they don't tolerate your disconnect.
stained teeth for walls diagnosing me insane.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
Last night I noticed that I'm dropping things
far too often.
Papers. Keys. Small plastic toys.
Even round lemons.
So far nothing fragile or important but still
this worries me.
I'm thirty-seven: not young anymore
but, also, I'm not old.
My first thought was: am I forgetting to hold them tight?
Perhaps, I'm not grabbing them right.
I sat for a while diagnosing my own mental health.
No. I am not becoming forgetful.
I can reason fine.
Relieved, I put my worries behind me
and went to sleep.
Darkness hurts my hands.
When I close my eyes
the pain starts.
It shoves itself like a clattering elevator
clawing its way up to my fingertips.
Poundings and tensions and strains
begin to disrupt my languid limbs.
In my dream, my palms feel like lead:
infinitely heavier than their normal weight.
My fingers start curling in.
But it's in my joints where the throbbing emanates.
The discomfort becomes insufferable.
It hurts to move my hands.
My fists have turned into numb bricks.
By now the pain has disrupted my sleep.
I take my sore hands and place them on top of me
as I turn my back and face the bed
letting my hands soak the heat guarded between
the sheets and my chest.
This alleviates some of the pain.
This is how I hope to get some rest.
Though I'm fully aware
that the pain in my hands
will never really go away.
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
There are inmates in outpatients
and
patients in side wards with ingrowing
toenails,
Doctors who mumble
old people who stumble
apple crumble at lunchtime
a woodbine for the smoking room
which doubles as a lead lined tomb
for when the X-ray's run wild.
He has no compunction in
diagnosing dysfunction
I wonder who died and made this
man a God.
When they do an autopsy and
cut bits off of me
I think that It'll shock them
when
they see Blackpool Rock
printed right through me.
I return to the inmates
who've been discharged
from a cannon,
I feel like a man on
a mission
which is wholly unlikely.
The Doctor's tread lightly now
inject me twice nightly now
how I wish I was back
in the outpatients
but
I have patience,
I'll wait,
an unstable inmate
tranquilised and
stabilised.
a hamster on a wheel.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
We know it's a buggery installation to the condition of human, but here it is, fervid and frazzled,the green glowering vein of jealousy.
Some ration it by diagnosing it at it's roots. It's merely our biological will to proliferate our genetics, "Mate guarding" they will call it.
But I fail to see how this is anything but capricous as instead of helping me carry along my genetic line jealousy warps it into a suitable noose to adorn my neck.
Jealousy is simply an insatiable itch that flares up to feed my insecurities when they fall all too silent.
After all what good did security ever offer me?
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
Do you think we’re the sort of girls to sit around on a Sunday night?
EAH (loud buzzer sound) you’d be wrong!!
What’s the opposite of seasonal depression - seasonal euphoria?
I’m self-diagnosing here, but I think I’ve got it.
I have all the symptoms:
Excessive happiness: a level of joy statistically improbable.
Compulsive smiling: grinning under the most mundane circumstances.
Irrational optimism: the feeling everything will turn out all right.
Compulsive socializing: relentlessly engaging in parties and outings.
Impulsive behavior: capricious decisions that lead to.. stuff.
Difficulty focusing: trouble concentrating on ‘serious subjects.’
Increased appetites: A craving for.. everything fun.
I have to call it. The symptoms are limpid, my diagnosis is:
Summer, seasonal euphoria, and it feels pretty good.
.
.
Songs for this:
Rooftop by Kelly Jones
The Game of Love by Katrina & the Waves
DeadBeat Club by The B-52s
Jul 16, 2024
Jul 16, 2024 at 8:53 PM UTC
Preacher sees in black and white
So preacher sees he’s right
Justified by God’s light
To judge on sight
Preacher says secular music is evil
Not meant for holy people
He’s not even talking about Slayer
Or Jay-Z rapping about being a player
He uses Led Zeppelin as an example
When more relevant options are ample
My musical taste is trampled
Like some shameful scandal
He tells me not to listen to Crazy Train
So I think he has a lazy brain
That didn’t listen to what Ozzy was saying
That song wasn’t about foxy ladies
Or boxing babies
Or buying a Mercedes
Just diagnosing the rabies
Of a species in training
If I don’t listen
How can I help?
It sounds like a mission
To focus on myself
Instead of pain that is felt
By those who have welts
That kind of life seems reductive and boring
When outside it’s storming
And everyone ignores me
The music is God performing
Just for me
Preacher wants to delete
The musical elite
Until only gospel plays on repeat
At that point I’ll take a seat
Saying that’s neat
But I’m looking for more
Like opinions on war
And the dominion formed
Through judgmental scorns
That leaves our culture torn
The church is a microcosm of society
With the preacher dictating propriety
Saying ignore the secular entirely
To not live so direly
I found the divide between the secular and religious
When both take their culture to an extent prodigious
They start acting vicious
Once they’re comfortable in their niches
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 9:54 PM UTC