Thoughts
These thoughts, my thoughts,
I cannot stop them.
Constantly running,
Endlessly churning,
Continuously eating away
At my sanity.
Always contemplating my strength
To continue living my life
Trapped inside my brain.
I cannot take it anymore;
I simply cannot.
These thoughts, my thoughts.
I know how to end them,
I so badly want to cease
Their existence,
My existence.
It would be so easy,
The opportunity so close.
Too close.
A knock, the knock.
Please don’t, the shame.
Please do, I need saving.
A short drive,
There it is…
Emergency Room Entrance.
Questions.
So many questions
I do not know the answers to.
For thirty hours
I sit in isolation,
Under blinding lights,
Waiting for somewhere, anywhere,
To take me in.
Please, take me in.
A call, the call.
Someplace finally wants me.
265 miles away,
Four-and-a-half hours away.
I do not care,
Just take me.
Help me.
Please.
I enter a place,
A peculiar place,
Of order and safety;
So unbearably terrifying
Yet so pleasantly comforting.
The staff, the patients,
They do not comply
With the tales, rumors.
The staff,
They are nice,
They care.
The patients,
They are normal.
They are people,
Just like me.
Exactly like me.
I meet a man, a quiet man.
The doctor.
His face is aged,
His beard graying,
His movements slow and gentle.
He has done this a time or two.
He does not shun,
He does not question.
He hears my thoughts,
Sees my panic, my tears.
He does not fear,
He does not flinch.
He listens.
Just listens.
Trial and error,
More error than progress.
For twenty days
He tests, I ingest,
They poke, we regroup;
All in the name of treatment.
But somehow I am finding me
Buried beneath the wreckage
Of these thoughts, my thoughts.
Day twenty-one,
Such a menacingly exciting day.
I no longer belong in the cautious home
I have come so accustomed to needing.
The man, the doctor,
He has made me anew.
We have found me.
I have found strength.
My troubles are not over,
They are nowhere near over.
Recovery is a journey,
Not a destination.
A journey that will
Tempt me, tease me,
Taunt me, hurt me.
But from this journey,
With a gentle push,
A helping hand,
From that soft-spoken man,
I have gained insight.
My calling.
To help people, all people,
It is a rewarding experience.
But to help people,
People like me,
Suffering from illnesses
So greatly misunderstood,
That is an honor I will achieve.
I will so that I, too, may one day
Become the soft-spoken [wo]man
That I once so badly needed to listen.
Just listen.
Comments
Login or register to post a comment.
I took away so much from this. It speaks about a certain level of sanity that doesn't seen to be held there
Absolutely amazing. So empowering. I can feel these moments, taste your pain, live it all with you. Brilliant. Very glad that you're doing well! Keep up the amazing work!
keepon.khaia
This was amazing!
TwylaL
This poem really speaks about a mental state that many people are struggling in, with a very strong message
Writer20029
I don't even know what to say because this is beasically, my life.
Oh my god, this is so accurate. I've been through almost the exact same thing, although it took a while to find that gentle doctor. That's such a difficult struggle to have to endure. I really empathize with you, I feel your pain right now after reading that amazing poem. Keep writing! <3