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Mental Suicide

I brought my imbalances
And own self perception
Humidity brought the rain
And passion brought the drought

But that absence brought a thirst
That could no longer be felt
So belief is a word I have trouble believing
And the light in the dark I have trouble seeing

It’s always a cycle

I have trouble remembering what happened between hello and goodbye
The words that were oxygen became living parasites
We share our minds like we share our hearts
And my sleeve is stained while my head is apart

Body, mind, and soul all sold
For temporary calmness, distorted tranquility
By trains that run on a track they are stuck too
With power and potential, but only one way to go

Are you still the one you wanted to be?
The one you said would never change?
Am I the one I said I would be?
Or the one who got blurred out on paper lines

Believe me when I say
I don’t know what to say

The bulbs break and shut off
Maps of neurons start getting crossed out
What part of your mind are you trying to hide
What part of you has committed mental suicide?
PF

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

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Arachnophilic

The lock slid into place,
and the sun was no more.
The world around me had fled;
every had neuron wilted until dead.

The spiders wove a message-
the greatest self-loathing to date.
The sun shined,
but the flowers would not meditate.

I sat near the cobwebs
as they feigned an adorned attention.
(The snow and the sun
knew nothing of this.)

An absolute exhaustion,
but I answered my own question.
I arose with determination-
some arbitrary motivation.

The world was not so cold.
An imaginary exit sign
had been covered by mold.
My fingertips searched
for a euphoric nowhere,
but the doorknob was no longer there.

This post is a submission from Danny who wrote a Coping piece earlier this year for Dear Hope. Find his poetry page here to hear his intricate and detailed thoughts and creations.

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Creative Pieces dear hope
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Outlooks

I used to be convinced I knew it all
In a world that’s only meant for the same
I used to think it was all in my head
But there’s two sides to me, and one’s always dead

I play those games, I’d play that song
Waiting for someone to just come along
And show everyone’s not like me
Stuck on a train that no one can see

No one can see

It hurts to know, hurts to know everyone changes
And secretly judges like me
It hurts to know time waits for no one
Moving to the rhythm we march to the end

I’m falling for no one
I believe in nothing
No hopes, No dreams
Leaves me lost at sea

PF

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

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Silence

These thoughts running through my head
Contemplating life and death
So much noise, so much doubt
I’m afraid not even the darkness can figure this one out
I’m gonna build a little shelter here
And call it my home
Away from the wolves, away from the storm
This will be the last you hear, this will be the last you see
Of this torn asunder soul
I’ll burn down the bridges and call the ashes home
I’m a hungry heart with a loaded gun
Too tempted to shy away from the morning sun
I feel these eyes calling me home
But home is not where you are
Oh God, Where are you?
I’m finding it difficult to breathe under these heavy stares
Dear God what’s it going to take to make you care?
I’m burning, Im breathing, Im dying
I can’t seem to find my way out
Oh God…Where are you now?
–
This poem is submitted by Matthew Malin. For more discussion on mental health and what it’s like to be inside his head, check out his blog “Confessions” here.
Always remember you are not alone.
You are loved.
PF
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com
Creative Pieces dear hope
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Fin.

It affects me in waves.

Steady shore line, I focus.

Still sick.
 Still alone, still incomplete.

My morals, my mind.

The great divide.


Hopefully content with the decline

As the rush of blood enters my head.

Caught between the leaves

In a treeless forest.

A heart without a mind,

The universe without its space.

Utterly silent as I stumble through

Connect me to the sound


Pitch black comfort

End Scene.

Submitted by Thomas Finne. Find some more of his thoughts and poetry over at his tumblr page. Also check out his music project here.

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

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No Last Time

There’s never going to be a last time.

There is no cure.

There is only the finite space

Of not-so-bad

Of kind of okay

The discrete moments of joy.

And they’re so hard to remember

Especially when the sadness

Is so overwhelming,

When the melancholy floats to the surface

Like poisonous cream,

When I’m already so tired

And the reality is that the best

I can hope for is respite

Rather than true relief.

It’s like having a terminal illness

That never terminates,

And there’s no palliative care,

No hospice,

And so often, no real understanding,

Just empty platitudes.

–

Submitted by Hanna Lange who runs a blog that you can find and check out here.

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

PF

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Creative Pieces dear hope
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Sleepless Nights

I lie awake in bed staring at the ceiling tiles that seem to float above me. First at each individually, and then back as a whole. Noticing every dot and curve in the cheap design used in this college dorm. But as cheap as it appears, I can still find some uniqueness in each.

My eyes signal out some pieces of one section, crafting each small fragment into a picture. I let my imagination work, seeing ancient civilizations at war, groups of Christmas trees, and machinery transforming into wildlife before my eyes.

The gears turn into vines that breathe life into the sky and for a moment I can sense a feeling of tranquility spread through my body. In my head I feel alive. But even the bed that grasps me from beneath is questionable in my reality.

But in the darkness as I try to fall asleep as the only living thing is this room I feel a sense of dread. A pressing sense creeps upon me, a sense that tells me that these pictures on the ceiling won’t always stay here. I fear that in the morning, after an hour of sleep. I won’t remember this.

images

I fear I won’t remember me.

Creative Pieces dear hope
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I am

I am surrounded by friends. I am alone. 

I am confident. I am insecure. 

I am complete. I am broken. 

I am healthy. I am sick. 

I am one. I am two. 

I am not the same as you.

I am two. But I am one.

I am sick. But I am strong.

I am broken. But I am rebuilding.

I am insecure. But I am moving forward.

I am alone. But I have found comfort in knowing,

We are all the same.

imgres

Creative Pieces dear hope
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Overbooked: Help Put On Hold

Trigger Warning For Suicide Discussion:

–

This is it.

It would be this easy to end it.

It would be this easy to take a life. 

Unknown-8

He stood against the cold metal looking straight ahead into the scarce clouds that dotted the city skyline. The sounds of engines combusting gasoline and turning pistons filled in the gaps behind him that reflected the back of his eyes with imagery. But this what just background noise.

Feedback.

Static.

Just like his mind on a constant basis.

He slowly looked down to the waters below. It was so far down. Is this what I truly want? He fought back to look in his mind for any reason not to step forward the six inches between life and death. But he found none. He heard footsteps of people walking down the sidewalk on the side of the bridge. But no one stopped. No one asked.

No one cared.

His eyes began to water as the breeze from the river brushed into his reaming emotions. How did it come to this? How did it come to the point where he wanted to die? Where each day he went to sleep hoping he wouldn’t wake up?

Article Creative Pieces dear hope
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The Phone Rings

The room is vacant of motion.

Time stands still. My mouth dries as the breath creeps in, stinging my lungs held so tightly by Asthma. The white walls reflect my mind. The empty spaces reflect the loss. Lost, maybe.

I could be.

I can remember you. I can remember the conversation. I remember the way your eyes locked with mine as I tried to count how many seconds I had been staring. The way the words flowed off your lips effortlessly; a stream of thought and consciousness in search of another’s ears. Looking for anyone to listen. Looking for anyone to care. All I can hear is my breathing. All I can feel is my shaking.

Anxiety has been on hold ever since she called.

And it’s getting hard to ignore her.

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Creative Pieces dear hope