help

I wrote this poem this morning, after a long conversation with my doctor. I don’t trust the mental health team. It’s not paranoia. It’s the experience of being let down by them more times than I can recall. But, my GP (who is the most wonderful lady) persuaded me I need extra help. I wrote this poem when I got home. It’s just the first draft, with no edits as yet. But I wanted to share it. It’s dark, and I should probably add there are TRIGGER WARNINGS.

Suicide

 

help

i sometimes wonder if
at the end
we get some release,
or if it’s the most
a  l  o   n     e
we ever feel …
i imagine a warm
blanket;
darkness
settling over my
body,
swathing me in a soft, dark
comforter,
but will it bring the
relief i crave,
and will it cause
disappointment, or bliss?

never give in,
that’s what the
lady with almond eyes and
a mouth that cares
says;
this is all
transitory,
but what if it’s not?
what if the only words to make it out of my mind
tell me of another option?
well, maybe i have to listen
because those words are important,
that’s why they’re all that survived the
frying of my brain.

confused,    foggy,     bleak
all i really know
one last chance to
stop being me,
a less permanent solution—
help;
not my favourite concept
but one i have to accept
this one last time,
and if it doesn’t work,
well, who cares …