I have been tidying my office a bit in the last few days and this evening, my eyes were drawn to my book of poetry that I wrote when i was in my early 20’s (nearly 15 years ago – god, I feel old now). I thought it might be interesting to publish them here as an insight into the feelings of someone with mental health issues.
I want to stress that, while I do still struggle quite a lot sometimes, I don’t feel nearly as black as this poem paints things. I think I was only just coming to terms with what I had (depression) and 15 years experience has taught me a few things on how to deal with the low feelings. Something else that really helps me is my 2 beautiful cute funny children. Knowing that I have them in my life, to protect, cuddle, play with (not withstanding all the guilt that i feel from certain lifestyle choices), it makes the darkness, when it comes, a little easier to bear/bare/bair…. no idea which word is the correct spelling – apart from the last one which is not a word!
Anyway, here is my poem from my little black book of poetry, pictured below:
8th January 2001
I closed my eyes and tried to find
the space where my life should be
23 years of living
leave me completely empty
When did the void appear?
How did I fall this low?
Why does my whole body
feel so utterly hollow.
I want to be alone,
but I need someone right now.
I want to reach out
but I don’t know who or how.
I feel so numb
I might as well be dead.
I’m alone in this world,
this place that I live in.
I wish the clouds in my head
Would leave me to my own peace
I’ve no reason at all so why do I feel such grief.
My whole life I’ve felt it. Its always been there.
I was always taught that life was fair.
But it isn’t. Its an empty cruel place.
And I look at myself. And my face
in the mirror tells me nothing at all.
All my life Ive felt this empty and small
Only now does it start to make sense.
The pills are starting to work.
I feel less desperate, less distraught.
But the emptiness is still right there in its place.
Maybe this is me. How I’m meant to be.
No matter where I am, who I’m with,
I’ll never be free
Sometimes even breathing is hard.
The emptiness inside me feels like a rock
Weighing me down. Pulling me down.
I curl up in the protection of my home.
Why do I feel like my skin is not my own.
Smiling feels so unnatural, when will it pass?
Perhaps when I get to the bottom of the glass.
My body’s warm but my heart is so cold.
How can 23 years make me feel so old.
I want to write it all down, get it out of my head
But I don’t think I can so I’ll fill my glass instead.
Rather depressing reading, isn’t it?! Sorry about that. Here is a funny picture of Lala to cheer you up!
|this is her smiling 🙂