Welcome back to another in my series of Crap Poems.
I can’t believe I’ve written 34. Should I publish a book of them?
This time, I’m afraid, I’ve written a poem about mental illness and how it can sometimes feel to hide what’s inside.
I hate that my life is clouded by a personality disorder, that catastrophising a problem comes so naturally, and my illness makes pain so much worse, but it’s exactly that, an ILLNESS. Eight years after being diagnosed and while watching tha narrative and campaigning online for better mental health, I know most of us often feel misunderstood.
This is my ode to that problem.
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What does it feel like?
My headache drowns the entire world.
Tears matt up my hair that’s curled.
I ask myself most every day.
How do I grasp the will to stay?
It seems that each day I remain.
A weight is added to my pain.
I creak and click in every joint.
And often wonder “what’s the point?”
And this is the worst pain of all.
It’s in my head, a huge grey wall.
I can’t get round it, though I’ve tried.
I broke my nails and scuffed my thighs.
The wall is insurmountable.
And often unpreventable.
Right now, sat on my own, it means.
My insides let out silent screams.
My sadness and grief will not part.
These tears mark yet another Start.
Have you seen a craggy hill?
Perched in the clouds charcoaled and still
Its beauty hide so much inside.
The pointy stone shaped by old tides.
The chocolate earth smoothed by giant feet.
The flora grown with roots so deep.
That’s how I feel most of the time.
Weathered inside, but outside fine.
The well-known Swan, bobbing and graceful
But under the surface it’s very unstable.
I’m working so hard to meet expectations.
But right now my brain has some limitations.
The moments where I’m at my best.
Are when the situation’s stressed
Autopilot kicks in fast
I fix the problem ‘til it’s passed.
It’s only later that I see.
The damage stress has done to me.
An extroverted woman gone
And back to fearful flailing Swan.
Emotional parts need hefty fix
My bones and brain are in eclipse.
Anxiety is ivy creeping in my veins.
Fear of a catastrophe is fanning its own flames.
In the dark, I ruminate wildly.
My growing paranoia is very unkindly.
I wish I knew how to break through this cloud.
My depression is deafeningly loud.
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Thanks for reading 💜
Creative Steph 