Bewilderness

Mental health, Poetry, Stigma, Writing

Sometimes all I can feel in my heart

Is this hollow, aching, longing, need

But I don’t know what the need is for.

Today it hurts inside and I don’t know why.

It hurts inside and tears smart in my eyes.

I am fighting an invisible army:

Silent: taught to play at pain.

Each time I turn, they slip away.

But, as they do, they catch my skin

With whistling blades.

Finish me: I’ve lost this game.

Published by ThinkingInk

I write because it makes things better. I love singing, dancing, reading and listening to people. I believe it’s ok to feel however you actually feel and that the word ‘should’ should be banned. I am aware of the irony in that sentence. I have an incredibly soft, black-and-white cat called Elwood, who loves yoghurt and ham. I have struggled a lot with depression, anxiety and OCD. I have had some brilliant therapy and some that was less good, but I firmly believe in therapy. I have two children, who are both wonderful and maddening (aren’t they all?) and now I’m studying again. When I feel rubbish, writing helps me find my way out of the maze, channelling my feelings and centering me again. I’ll keep writing because it’s good for me but if it interests other people too, then that’s really great. I believe that self-compassion is at the root of wellbeing and that when we are kind to ourselves, we are kinder to others too. I believe that the phrase: ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me’ is the most unhelpful pack of lies we could possibly tell ourselves. Words can hurt, and they do, but they can also heal. Words are extremely powerful.

Published