“Almost” & “What Gets Me Through the Day”

Below is Ethar’s poem “Almost”, and her artwork of what helps her make it through the day.

“I will go down to the lake

And dip my toes in the blue-green water,

Tadpoles tickling my feet.

It would be a cliché scene

If it weren’t for my bottle of morning Prozac

Sitting beside me,

On the grass.  

A Lens Into Our World Creative Pieces

The Deadly Promise

The Deadly Promise

The real me is disguised
by this massive unwanted weight.

Staring blankly into the glass,
praying to be given the most
valuable quality, that of perfection.

I don’t need anyone.
All I need is you.

My happy little addiction,
sweeping me away into your
false, troubled world.

The more withered I get,
the stronger you and I become.

Together we are reckless,
doing anything it takes
to be empty and accepted.

I can never be too critical
you always leave room for my improvement.

You promise me joy.
So I follow you willingly
into the depths of disappointment.

It’s never enough for you.
Therefore it’s never enough for me.

I signed your contract,
because I worship your
ability to beautify others.

Make me like them, my friend.
Transform me into something magnificent.


 

This poem was submitted by Kelsey-Brooke Scheumann.

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

Creative Pieces dear hope Uncategorized

Monday

So on a rainy day this past summer, I woke up with depression at its finest, where it was one of those days where I felt so drained of energy that I definitely was not going to be able to go to work. I called out, slept for most of the day, and managed to write this. I hope it can be relatable to those of you having a bad day, or those of you who may have felt similarly. Here’s “Monday”-

I’m not taken aback by the beauty of the sun or moon.

But that’s okay, at least I’ve learned in time that there are very little differences between objects labeled mine and days considered wasted time. Entitlement is a false concept paralleling a religious purgatory.

Creative Pieces

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

Creative Pieces dear hope

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

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.

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Creative Pieces dear hope

Coping: This is Who We Are Entry 3 – “From My Suicide Note to Now, A Heart Moving Outwards”

I don’t really know where to start.

images-8

I didn’t really understand what I’m going through, and what I have gone through, until some point last year. After being informed that there was an actual name for everything I’d been experiencing, I began to take quite a different outlook on, well, everything. But I digress.

My name is Danny. I’m 21. I go to college. I have a job. I have friends. I like movies, music, sports, and many other things that normal people my age would enjoy. I smile like everyone else, I go about my daily routine like everyone else, and I have fears, just like anyone else. These are normal parts of my identity that many people know. But what I don’t broadcast is that I have suffered from Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder for as long as I can remember. After digging up some earlier stuff in therapy this past year, I can deduce that my earliest memory of these disorders was around 7th or 8th grade. I remember sitting in Science class, existing as an introverted adolescent, and thinking about how wonderful it would be to kill myself. This is a thought that would follow me for the next eight years.

332 Coping: This Is Who We Are 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