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Kat Dec 2018
I've been told
That antidepressants have side effects
That finding the right medication
Can be a process
And I always thought
It wasn't worth
The risk

But then I spent a month
Dealing with severe anxiety
And I decided
That side effects couldn't be worse
Than crying for hours
Having multiple panic attacks a week
Huddling on my bed
Too anxious to leave the house
Feeling like a shell of the person
I used to be
That I wouldn't mind
Messing with my brain chemistry
If my brain chemistry
Was already messed up

And people told me
Try meditation
Exercise more
Eat healthy
And yes, exercise helps me
But not when I'm too scared
To exercise
And meditation helps me
But not when I can't meditate
Without panicking
And eating healthy helps me
But not when I have no appetite
To eat

So I went on medication
And there were side effects
And it was a process
But I think
The drugs are helping
Cause now
I can ride a train
Sit through a lecture
Walk home from work at night
Without hyperventilating
I can get through the week
Without sobbing on the floor
Or tearing up
At a sad story or a song
I can think of the future
Without feeling
Quite so hopeless

I've been asked
Do you think you need medication?
If I thought I didn't need it
I wouldn't be taking it
And I know
I'm lucky
I know
I might start feeling worse again soon
I know
I might change my mind
And decide that being on medication
Isn't really what I want
But for now
I'm just happy
To be feeling a little more
Like myself
Again
Disclaimer: I'm not trying to suggest with this poem that everyone dealing with depression or anxiety should go on medication. I know that there are many people who don't want to or can't, and I totally respect that. I just wanted to share my story, since trying to figure out how to deal with my anxiety has been and continues to be a long and hard process.
Lizzy Dec 2015
Pill number nine.
My head is pounding
And the room is spinning so fast,
I'm not sure which way is up.
My stomach is churning,
I can barely keep it's contents from
Making an appearance.
Nine, you better be worth this.

Pill number ten.
I can't take you.
I know the doctor said tonight,
But nine has me so sick
The thought of swallowing another pill
Just makes me gag.
You'll get your chance tomorrow.
Carter Ginter Feb 2017
My depression
feels
as though
my heart has
turned
to stone
and sank my chest
so close to the ground that
I can feel the gravel
Scraping apart my raw skin
and as I float
helpless
between defeat
and perseverance, my
insides begin
to rot,
as though my
stomach acid has
crept through my veins,
disintegrating my
heart strings and
slowly consuming
my lungs
only enough so that
death seems promising
I welcome it
with open arms;
Beg for it.
And then,
I catch my
Breath
and
It begins again.
Celia Apr 10
I feel foggy
With this self-medication,
        my mind thickens still
An unasked yet unanswered query
What exactly is in this pill?

A means without end
An end far from near,
        there's a pain in my heart
The saddened fate of system made,
        too late to tear apart.
Carter Ginter Apr 2017
I spend much of my life
within the confines of my mind
Some days I am unsure
Whether I am dead or Alive

But the medication that I cling to
removes the existential fear
and allows my thoughts to relax
yet, it also seems to suppress my wonder

Without the pills,
I can intently watch myself write
As each stroke of my small wrist
Leaves grey stains across the blank page

With them, I can feel happiness
I can detach myself from life's pain
and realize my distractions
instead of permitting them to anchor my heart

But with my medicine I cannot create
not in the ways I wish to
They build a border between substance and surface
while it blocks out the depression
it also limits my humanity

Yet, if I were to quit taking them
the darkness would return to haunt my world
strangling my limbs, until I have no will to fight
or even to move for that matter

Without them, I can expend myself
in this art that has kept my heart beating
My emotions can freely guide my movements
in the hopes of creating something beautiful

But those pills have also saved my life
and yet, they have a dark side too
The anxiety they breed produce
such a significant strain on my actions
that I can't tell if I'm truly living

So as I sit in this barren hallway
listening to the echoes that disrupt the silence
I wonder whether my temporary refrain from my "lifelines"
will lead to my success or my demise.
Carter Ginter Jan 2018
Sitting in this dark room
Running from my own darkness
Drowning out this fear and pain
With cold liquor and burning nicotine

Anxiety is spiraling through my veins
And the alcohol tames it for a minute
But then again I'm drinking alone
And that itself is dangerous

My clean arms are taunting me
Begging me to stain them red
With my own hands
To coat them with my own demons

I've been clean awhile now
And I've been doing well
But some days I'm not so sure
Because the knife is always a few feet away

How do you **** something inside yourself?
How do you escape your own feelings?
I know it's unhealthy
But these substances make it easier to deal
kevin hamilton Jun 2017
at dusk
the lights went out
and never came back
left my earthly husk
through the lips
the whiskey spoke
and it sounded nice
easy party trick
broke into your medicine cabinet
and saw my face
in the bathroom mirror

stay awake
and we'll stare at each other
until we become familiar.
Iska Dec 2018
Dilated pupils,
crazed grins and white lies.
Don’t you see the chaos writhing beneath my skin?
Ragged breathing shivering spines the delusion that I am alive.
Screaming nerves hysterical laugh can’t you see it will out last
all that I am.
An uphill battle where I’m destined to die.
A whirlwind that rages within as I yank out my hair and peel back my skin.
Masochistic they say.
Delirious on pain.
Rolled eyes biting tongues
I wonder why the world demands I live life perfect and clean,
when all I want to do is make such a delicious mess.
Your life is too much you say?
Your trying to catch your breath?
I don’t want my life at all, when was the last time I even took a breath?
I can’t recall.
All I know is this compulsive urge.
Raw.
Enticing.
Undeniable.
I want to break things.
To feel them collide and shatter beneath my finger tips.
I want to tear at the walls until my nails crack and my fingers bleed.
I want this whirlwind,
this storm
to rage until it consumes the entire world around me.
So deliciously self destructive.
I want to bite and snarl and tear into my skin, making such a lovely MESS of myself.  
To tear out my hair and lash out at everything.
I want to know how it feels to explode.
Such reckless desire.
I want to open myself up to find a reason, ANY reason to stay alive.
And do you want to know the scariest part of all?
I want to NOT find a reason.
Pure insanity,
I know.
I want to peel my skin back, layer by layer, to make such a glorious MESS of myself, only to find it all for naught.
You see, there is a beauty,
in setting the world ablaze,
in shattering the ground that I stand upon,
and watching among the flames as it crumpled and falls,
entombing me.
Such a blissful nonsensical whimsical desire.
Such delicious delirium.
To watch myself go up in flames.
To ruin myself so completely.
So absolutely.
To witness the reckless beauty in breaking the world.
Of relishing in the madness and destruction that matches the chaos in my head.
I think we all dance upon the razors edge.
Some just dance a tad more recklessly then others.
Sara Kellie Jun 2018
Twenty years in the fast lane, speeding
was ecstacy at the time.
Sweet heady bubbles of coke,
buzzing at feeding.
No softeners added, lemon or lime.
My therapy, my medication.

******, my mind on a long vacation.
Knowing this time would
one day arrive.
My restless legs, my tired insides.
My not so central nervous system,
twitching fingers, flickering eyes.
This to me is no surprise.
My therapy, now my reprise.

Peotyr by aKydee.
Drugs saved my life once.
emily mikkelsen Sep 2018
chemically imbalanced.
these two words
made up all of me.
my whole personality
defined by this one thing.
they call it anxiety
it takes away your sleep
it tears down your dreams
it makes you think
everything is a bomb
waiting to explode
a disaster
waiting to unfold.
a live wire
in my bones
making its home
in my soul.
a part of me
never apart from me
i lost myself
in anxiety’s causalities.
the cure came in an orange bottle
with a child safe lid
at first the pills were white
tiny little circles
burrowing in the creases of my palm
smooth down my throat
healing that tasked like chalk.
the pills are sunshine yellow now
smiling up at me
carrying the end
of my disease.
Lost Sep 2018
Pills
Rattle
Down
My
Throat

I am a tuneless maraca
Shake me up and listen
To the sound of medication
Rapping up against my
Intestinal lining

Dance to the song
My stomach is writing
Hear the notes smeared
Together and move your
Body in rhythm with my
Convulsing

Foaming at the mouth
White bubbles of poison
Dripping down blue cheeks
My eyes roll back in my
Head and see stars erupting
A firework show just for me
Frying up my burning brain

When I die I don’t
Want to be asleep
I want to feel every last
Bit of oxygen
Squeezed out of me
I want to watch my life
slip away in a hazy fever dream

Pills rattle down my throat
And you’re not here to see it
But I’m laying on the ground
Choking on my *****
I didn’t say goodbye
Because it would just
Make everybody sad
But know that this is
The happiest moment
I’ve had
CONTENT WARNING: Strong suicidal ideation

I promise I’m okay, I’m just struggling while I’m off my meds for now. I’m in between psychiatrists and I’ll get them soon enough. I am safe.
Sara Kellie Dec 2018
I am analogue.
made of troughs and of peaks.
My medication offers
silence with tweaks.
I'm upping and downing,
either dreaming or drowning.
So I can't stay too long
in case something goes wrong.

First thought of the day
is of impending doom.
Rain clouds have gathered
and it pours in my room.

Later on that day,
I feel I'm okay
and I don't know why but
. . . . . I'll take it.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Joshua Michael Aug 2018
I’m sorry I’m sorry
I said, Stepping in
The mental hospital
I’m not right in the head

I’ve been constantly slicing
Cutting through skin
To escape myself
To survive my hell

I wish to see your face
when they finally let me free.
I wish you would write
or call me just once

But for now, just visions of you
While I’m drowning
In my own crimson blood
Tearing
       Splitting
            Ripping
Searching for the key
To this mental prison

The nurse walks away
After haven given
Me some medication
Something to calm me

The straight jacket now
Holding me firm
They put me down
I Sit there an empty stare
  
They filled me up with drugs
keeping my head in narcotic haze.
Pill after pill all day, every day
I am broken and defeated

Paralyzed
Broken
Alone
Sitting here in a mental home.
Its been a few days inside now, i'm finally allowed some time to write and use the computer. Its cold in here, its lonely and they are constantly watching The screams at night are the worst.
ATL Aug 29
that pharmacy could be
a tree,
spitting small colorful seeds
down the throats of kids
that look at concrete too often-

a tree
with budding fruit
clipped and stuffed
into a sunrise-colored cylinder
by a man
dressed in a priestly white frock,

and I could be
a catechumen
waiting pliantly
inside the trunk,
whispering prayers
to the wood above my head.
punk rock hippy Jul 2014
I want to hit it hard, not romanticize about the blood ya feel me?
As you read that first line,
when you cross over to the second,
your nose will start to bleed just before my fist connects with your face.
I often dream about it, being feared.
The only reason that you're on the ground is because I put you there.
Quite frankly I'm fearful of myself.
My throat still holds the ache of the alcohol going down.
I swear to you I'm doing better.
I swear.

I can't swear in this house hold so I will talk so quickly creating run on sentences without punctuation or breath because I'm panicking over nothing in particular.

******.

Add some shakes to your vocabulary and you've got it right.
My medication puts stray dogs under my finger nails, that's ok because dogs are happiness.
That's supposed to mean I'm happy.

I made myself write this, its horrifyingly scattered just like my head.

That's not right.
That's wrong.
Something is terribly wrong so I must fix it.

That's what I do,
I fix.
I'll just look at this as art.
Some persons trash is another ones treasure.

I'm too scared to write anymore.


This is garbage.
King Panda Sep 2015
I am wayworn
run over
self-abused
caught in the length of
her skirt contorting my
body in hope
of releasing
the rabbit trap
videotaped
unresponsive
drugged like a
medication ****

so
please
leave me alone
officer I was stalking
myself in the park
not her
no
never her
because she is
me and I am
no one
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