We all suffer at times.
It's Mental Health Month so I present to you two of the only four poems I've written so far in 2025. (One poem now and another in the next post). It's very unlike me and that's because creativity is the first thing to go when suffering from shitty mental health.
I've had severe anxiety, which has been going on for over a year. I've always had anxiety and there's been bad periods, panic attacks, going back to childhood but nothing like what I've been experiencing. Very physical. Very debilitating. It's been the toughest part of my life without a doubt. Your own brain turning against you. There's no escape. It's been fucking horrendous.
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| AI created for this post |
Only my girlfriend really knows what it's been like for me. She's seen it up close. Without her I would say I would have done myself in. This is not a pity cry. It was an escape I fantasised about. I will say I have improved over the past few months, and especially the past three weeks.
Anyway, read the poems and know they come from a place of deep truth. If anything, I've underplayed how I've been. In public, I've certainly kept up a brave face. I've been able to work but only just. Valium has got me through. (Cold showers too). I've been in survival mode. Truth is, some people are supportive, others not at all, but only up to a point and only for a set time. I've learnt this the hard way. People get empathy burn out. And they're the ones who actually care. Depressed people are on their own. Happy people attract others. A sad fact. And we wonder people take their own lives.
I don't.
Far from land, foretold
Hope surfaces
Like the proverbial drowning man
Trying to suck in air
Before the next wave devours him.
I am adrift
A plaything
A joke
To amuse the oceanic Gods
‘Look how it struggles
While grasping its futility
Pathetic.’
The irony being
I can see the funny side too
If only it wasn’t
Happening to me.
I yearn for the sky
And how it must look
Elsewhere
Yet, I am not in control
Of my environment
Much less my fate
It was preordained
I merely kept up the strokes
As though it would take me
In a new direction
To a different outcome
The one I dreamt when young.
But now that I’m here
I see that the script was already written
Even in youth.
It doesn’t mean I want this
I’d do anything for an alternate
I am surrounded by surging
Unforgiving seas
Too far gone
For rescue.
The only choice
Is to let go
It’s time for the suffering
To expire.
24.2.25 1.05 am
Here's a short video I made a year ago from a poem from 2020. I got far worse after this. Can you relate in some way? I've no doubt you can. Some things are universal.
Except for sociopaths. They have no doubts whatsoever. Haha
The second poem in the next post with something positive to end on.
Thank you for reading this far.
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| AI image of me at work (I always hand-write poems/stories/novels) I hope to return to it when able. |
Way back in 1992 I made a short film about a man who loses control of his mind after a series of life blows. Knowing my own mind, it wasn't a large stretch.
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