Poetry and Risperidone

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These pills are like duct tape across
my mouth, silencing screams
clawing to get out.

Thoughts muted; rainbows
fade to greyscale;
playground ball deflated.

Pen suspended mid-air,
stutters at best.  Spittle
on an anorexic page.

And already…
The End
like premature ejaculation.
I’m so sorry.

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Daily Meditation – The Greatest Gift

winter

When the cold of depression surrounds my heart with ice, and I shiver under the blankets in my lonely bed, it feels as though I will suffer alone forever with the silent screams of the voices in my unquiet mind. If only for a moment to feel the healing touch of God, to feel the warmth of his hands melt the chill of despair that suffocates my soul – oh, how lovely this would be!

At times, it feels as if our despondent mood will last forever, but like the tides of the ocean, the ebb and flow of life and its accompanying emotions are never stagnant. What is today will not necessarily be tomorrow. With every breath is the promise of new and different possibilities.

Hanging onto the hope of a better tomorrow is the greatest gift we can give to ourselves. Taking the necessary steps to facilitate such an outcome is what we are called to do. We alone are responsible for taking care of ourselves, our health, our own well-being. We must not wait for someone else to take charge of our lives. We must take even the smallest of steps to begin to make the changes in our lives to become the person we were meant to be, to heal if only a little at a time; to try if only in some small way every day.

Flash of Depression – a poem

The clock tick tocks,
pounding lines in my face;
breathing yesterdays gone;
inhaling tomorrows soon to be forgotten.

Where do I go
when there’s nothing left to do?
From whom do I receive
my final instructions?

Each second pricks my skin
again and again.
Eternity is my tattoo,
and I writhe in pain.

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Disordered Bedtime Thoughts – a poem

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I imagine a lead pipe boring into my flesh;
poking holes through my forearm, releasing pressure
from a body filled with tightly wound springs.

Boing! Boing!

These notions float from a subconscious stream,
and hover in the haze under black weeping willows where
the Reaper’s whispers chill my neck.

I feel the flick of his iced tongue behind my ear;
his hand on my bare back, sliding around my waist
bringing me closer, into his arms and against his skeletal frame.

The water begins by sipping my feet,
and then slowly swallows my legs before
finally, submerging my torso. And I
sleep ‘til morn.

Loss of Bipolar Creativity

bipolar creativity

For several years I wrote poetry every day, feverishly. I felt like I would explode if I didn’t write the words in my brain. It was as if I was taken over by a force outside of myself, and what I ended up writing was as much as a surprise to me as it would have been to a stranger reading it. Exciting and energizing are the best words to describe the experience of writing poetry for me.

I loss the ability to access this side of my creativity about a year ago. It coincided with the time I started a new antipsychotic medication for my anxiety. I don’t know for sure if my creativity block has to do with the medication, but I strongly suspect it does.

I also experienced large amounts of emotional healing during that year, which may have contributed to the end of my drive to write poetry as well, since I wrote mostly when in emotional pain. Either way, I miss the rush of the flow of language spilling forth in a flurry, seemingly without effort on my part.

Below is a poem I wrote this week reflecting these feelings.

Fractured, a mind splintered
like a web-cracked windshield –
rock hit in the brain, dead center
or somewhere.

They never know where.
Will they ever? Neuro-
transmitter here, neuro-
transmitter there. A game

of hide and seek. Medication
roulette. Gambling while
drinking cocktails before bed
in hopes of getting
some fake sleep.

Thoughts that used to flow fluidly
down a single stream now,
split into multiple chasms;
fall into the abyss, trail off
out of creativity’s reach.

Has a psych medication ever caused you to lose your creative edge?

Submissions Now Open

Turtle Way Logo

Turtle Way™ is Write into the Light‘s online literary art magazine. Our primary purpose is to deliver hope to those with mental illness through original works of literature and art that we create as we cope with and heal from our own mental illnesses.

We are currently accepting submissions in the following areas for our fall 2013 issue:
•poetry
•prose
•short-story fiction and non-fiction
•essays, opinion pieces
•meditations, inspirations
•photography
•artwork
•jokes, cartoons, humor (PG or G ratings only)
•facts about mental illness (with link to source)

DEADLINE for next issue’s submissions is August 31, 2013.

To be a part of our mission, please submit your original work for consideration in our next issue scheduled for publication in the fall of 2013 by closely following the submission guidelines posted at http://turtleway.wordpress.com/about-2/submission-guidelines/

 

Hopping Along – a poem

It’s Holy Week
as I reflect
on the cotton-tailed
one

who is quiet,
cautious
and reserved;

who likes to stay
in the shadows,
and frightens easily;

who burrows
under blankets
of green earth,

protected, yet
so vulnerable
while keeping close
to her family.