Poetry: quiescent ontogeny (shedding September skin)

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go back some steps and paint the rest the colors they were meant to be.

parasites preventing psychology-
absent sounds without answers, potential apart metamorphosis.
the mistakes were easy,
splitting monochrome apart of the omniscient wind.

and they never learned anything.

I couldn’t escape the quiescence of ontogeny
descending east or west in our
oblivion as nothing-
these spider webs bury dead
under my intuition
ashamed of my own decisions
refusing to light,
but the flicker always subtle in the night,
aggressive how I wanted to make it shine.

we’re butterflies with broken mirrors,
scintillatingly self-reflecting that our deepest fears will never resonate with
the man under the bridge or the
child in Idaho or the
part of my father i never want to see in myself,
but always will.
hand-crafted maps fade because we’re told to abandon
caterpillars
as if this growth was a virus and not a blessing disguised as
thousands of glass shards unlocking doors.
I wanted to know more.

I couldn’t think where my mind begins
it shifts back hollow where I started
blonde curls lost frivolously among the pile of careful maple leaves
you should’ve tried to understand while you
blurred the sharpness of this image,
shades of fuschia indecisions
evading a dream,
incomplete sets of glass menagerie fog when I fall asleep.
shuffling the shutter, parallel to the stress it put me under.
a life repeating its first day,
continuing cabarets
confusing caves in sheep
crystallize
an endless disease.

flowers don’t communicate in binary;
your daisies were fireworks,
mute mutilations of my morbidity,
simultaneously transforming
sheep from tangible reality.
as I felt every strand of indifference-

IT ALL COULD HAVE BEEN DIFFERENT.

but
our faces yield yellow hues in
both pines needles and piles of
orange maples.

ashamed of where I hadn’t  been
because of the person I have yet to become
knowing what I will never be.
It was strange to see me as a human being
amorphous
feathers drifting incomplete
as crows without grief
circling aware
predicting what I could not escape
luminescent highways miles from fate
time spent
in the essence of these transgressions
pardon me gray.

what can i call colors i see,
branches of the trees from Polaroid memories,
or dreams of what the world should be?
where can i find these answers on this endless canvas,
this bruised, mountainous landscape,
constantly hammering away against our wars with self-abandonment?
what’s the spectrum where
trees and
everyone you’ve ever known that’s felt loss
can sing in harmony?

trapped in my mind,
hope is destiny when it’s not in our plans

running out of time,
the colors will fade as limbs grow thicker

footsteps erase.

mirrors adapt.

This piece is a collaboration between Zachary Johnson and Danny Kochanowski.

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

-DK

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

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Creative Pieces dear hope

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

Identity

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Identify me
Attempt to find me
In a sea of sunken dreams
I stay afloat
But only barely on thin arms
I’m a mirror by myself
Reflecting everybody else
But never what I thought or felt
It’s not my time.

It’s the silence that depresses me
And I welcome it subconsciously
I don’t mind.

Even the blind see
Who they want to be
Not contingent on the stares
They are so blissfully unaware
Of what they are
Everyones gaze it petrifies
Because of what it signifies
I feel I’ve lost more of myself
Than I can find

It’s the silence that depresses me
And I welcome it subconsciously
I don’t mind.
And I confront what I repress in me
And I smile at it thankfully
It reminds me of whats real
Reminds me I can feel

And it hurts to know
This is who I am
I’m a mirror myself
Reflecting everybody else
Who am I to deny
my place in their right
I’ll just keep the silence for myself

This is a song from my last band that fell apart way to soon. Hear the song here. 

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

Rid The Stigma: Using Mental Illnesses as Adjectives

I often overhear people saying “I was so depressed yesterday after watching that movie” or “my insomnia is so bad I’ve been up until midnight the last three nights”.

These need to stop. 

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I started thinking about this after reading a blog post earlier today. Go check it out, it’s an awesome blog.

Depression is not a short term sadness after viewing something sad. That is just being sad. Everyone gets sad every once in a while. Sadness is something in everyone. Depression, however, is something that lasts a long time, an ongoing fight that is often daily.

Article dear hope

I’m Depressed: We Speak Our Own Language

The community here is growing and I couldn’t be more excited. After just two weeks of activity here on the blog we’ve passed over 1,300 hits and have gathered almost 100 followers. We’re all in this together. You are not alone and you are loved. For this post I thought I’d focus more on what it feels like as I gradually get more depressed. As I’m sure all too many people can relate to.

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When I often describe that I’m in a low or slipping some people have a hard time understanding what I mean. These words usually have different meaning in every day use, but when I’m in a depressive state they are accurate descriptions of how I feel. It can start in a room full of people I know and love and will gradually feel myself start to slip. My senses start fading, my eyes get heavy, I feel like I’m moving backwards into myself. I slip. And in that feeling I find myself in that low. I feel reduced to nothing but my thoughts, and those thoughts themselves are useless. They’re meaningless, and they’re negative.

Article dear hope

On The Outside Looking In: Mental Illness

About a month ago I was wasting time browsing through my Facebook newsfeed wondering why I’m still friends with as many people as I am when I came across an article an old english teacher had shared called “My Lovely Wife in the Psych Ward”That’s an interesting title I thought. Upon further observation I realized that this was a personal tale from a man named Mark who knew almost nothing about mental illness as his wife, Giulia, descended into madness from hers. But here’s the best part you don’t hear too often. He stayed by her side and still loves her after two check-ins with a psych ward.

Article dear hope

Mental Illness: The Numbers

How many people do you think suffer or fight with a mental illness?

According to these numbers and statistics the chances that you know someone with a mental illness is pretty high. And you may think: No way, none of my friends or family have anything like that but when you look at the statistics it says only 25% of people who fight a mental illness feel like people around them are compassionate and understand. So for every four people they may open up to, only one of them will make them feel okay about what they have said.

Article dear hope