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highanxiety

creativity-when-depressed-part-two

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Spin

 

Spin.
       Spin.
              Spin.
Until I lose all self control
Pieces fly in all directions
I won't ever be whole

Shine.
       Shine.
              Shine.
Until you're blinded by my light
Draw you in like siren songs
I can't be alone tonight

Fill.
       Fill.
              Fill.
Until there's no room left for me
Take as much as you can give
I don't want to be empty

Love.
       Love.
              Love.
Until the burning feelings start
I know where this is headed
I don't want to break your heart

Run.
       Run.
              Run.
Until the chase is all I know
Leave everyone I love behind
I don't want to let you go

Breathe.
       Breathe.
              Breathe.
Until my lungs tear at the seams
Made it far enough away
I won't let you hear my screams

Cry.
       Cry.
              Cry.
Until my tears could form a sea
I didn't want to hurt you
I only wanted to be free

Spin.
       Spin.
              Spin.
Until I lose all self control
Pieces fly in all directions
I won't ever be whole

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17 hours ago, SugaredSloth said:

Spin

 

Spin.
       Spin.
              Spin.
Until I lose all self control
Pieces fly in all directions
I won't ever be whole

Shine.
       Shine.
              Shine.
Until you're blinded by my light
Draw you in like siren songs
I can't be alone tonight

Fill.
       Fill.
              Fill.
Until there's no room left for me
Take as much as you can give
I don't want to be empty

Love.
       Love.
              Love.
Until the burning feelings start
I know where this is headed
I don't want to break your heart

Run.
       Run.
              Run.
Until the chase is all I know
Leave everyone I love behind
I don't want to let you go

Breathe.
       Breathe.
              Breathe.
Until my lungs tear at the seams
Made it far enough away
I won't let you hear my screams

Cry.
       Cry.
              Cry.
Until my tears could form a sea
I didn't want to hurt you
I only wanted to be free

Spin.
       Spin.
              Spin.
Until I lose all self control
Pieces fly in all directions
I won't ever be whole

SugaredSloth:  Really like this piece.  Love how you constructed it.  Lots of feelings and emotion.  Great work!

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Strings:

 

My motions seem controlled

not by me but by a puppeteer,

arms and legs moving

by strings attached, 

I fear next will be my soul.

 

Trust is just a word,

not applicable to me,

My trust has been violated

secrets agreed to remain silent

but regretfully always heard.

 

Promises or offers made

by selected friends 

and even family 

only to be realized

with strings attached.

 

Vulnerable and unarmored

makes me prey,  easy to catch.

The hunter may let me go

reluctantly, but with many 

strings attached.

 

My hope is someday

this sadness and vulnerability 

will go away, so I won't 

need to always negotiate..

 

The key lies within

myself to find

the strength and will power

but most importantly the scissors

to cut the strings that bind.

 

 

 

 

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^ I concur with highanxiety. Great poem with wonderful cadence, Sloth. ^_^

And a nice job to everybody else as well! Been reading as much of it as I can.

---

[captivity] (another haiku)

 

Sometimes I feel trapped,

like a Great White in a pool.

Don't tap on the glass.

Edited by Foxxx

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Finding the urgent optimism that I need

 

Feeling so small

Sometimes the day is so so bright

From deep within the angriest clutches

Of my despair

I wrench the power to do what's right;

see what's there,

Conscience snarls at me bitterly

I've messed things time and time again

But what the hell,

if I'm so small, I can't get any smaller

Just by holding hope to my heart,

breathing in the most positive air of them all

Sometimes I'm floundering,

I know that well

But when I've failed a thousand times

The most important time to stand up

Is that 'one more time'

believing, believing - in that 'one more time'

it could make all the difference,

It could be the last time I need to get up,

climbing back up on to my feet

might mean that I will never fall again

on to the floor.

Lifting myself up and smiling....

It's ok to let optimism hold my hand

 

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All you wonderful souls... Thank you for the poem love lately. It's not always easy to share a piece of ourselves the way we do when we create, but you guys make the effort so worth it. I hope I can give back as much as I get out of this thread. So much love to each and every one of you!

I wrote this piece yesterday in the middle of an extremely depressive episode. More negative than most of my work, but I think we all know that's just how it goes sometimes.

 

Where am I?
The darkness caresses my skin like an icy hand,
And I shiver at the touch, repulsed at what it suggests.
What it calls me to do.
I see nothing, a black wall behind my irises.
Where am I?
I am an island in my existence,
Empty, uninhabited, alone.
But I feel a seductive heat from above,
A pulsing warmth, like a heartbeat.
It's mine, I think with a degree of madness,
If I could only reach it.
I wish I could draw it nearer.
Claim it. Inhale it. Possess it.
Let it possess me.
But instead, the darkness grips me tighter,
A frosty cage of laced fingertips.
Blood pools under my skin,
Bruises where my consciousness seeks freedom,
A losing battle. A dying fight.
Where am I?
Overwhelmed, I surrender.
My skin freezes, glass in the cold.
Solid, but brittle.
I feel the pulse again, nearer, so close.
I wanted it, didn't I?
I wanted it. But why?
The shape of a hand brushes my cheek.
So warm.
Too late, I think. It's too late.
Where am I?
The question disappears in a shower of shattered glass.
And I follow.

 

 

 

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"I am an island in my existence." I think many of us hear feel that way Sloth. At least I know I do sometimes.

 

Hmm... 7:00 in the morning but I suppose I'll write something real quick. Little bit of a free-write.

---

I've been incubating this idea in my head, partially because I didn't want it to come out half-baked, because I see a lot of potential in it. And I wasn't sure if I should try it as a poem, or a short-story, so I'm just going to write about it freely as an exercise and experiment.

 

I feel as if this struggle we have with our depression, or whatever our disorder may be, is a war happening in the mind. I find myself day in and day out, in the rain-soaked trenches beneath skies so grey you can't tell if it's smoke and dust from artillery, fire, or the clouds themselves. This is no war against a named enemy, an opponent with a face. It's a war with ourselves, against this Black Mass with the consistency of tar. Some may call it fear, or anxiety, or sadness. And it envelopes the once rich landscape, from it emitting a thick fog that floods the dug-out corridors.

 

The conflict seems so far away for the people at home. From our loved one who just wants to see us happy, but doesn't know what to do other than send us letters and hope they reach us across the vast sea. So far from our family who remember how healthy and alive we used to be. We're somewhere deep within the recesses of our own mind, a place they can only reach with pleading screams to come home that sound like whispers, drown out by the dogs of war.

 

There is hope though. No matter where you are on this earth... When we go to this place, we're going to the same battlefields that know no gender, no age, no color. We are not alone, but brothers and sisters in arms; drafted by bad luck to come and fight this war. To keep this foul disease at bay. There will be times where you drive long and hard into the enemy, only to find yourself in a relapse, slowly surrounded by impenetrable darkness with not a single soul around.

 

But know this. Remember the great words of Richard Winters, Major of the 101st Airborne in World War II:

 

"We're paratroopers, Lieutenant. We're supposed to be surrounded."

 

So wherever you find yourself, you've got to dig tooth and nail with everything you've got. Use the chemical warfare that the scientists prescribed if you think it helps. The monster will hiss violently, and will lash out, grab at you, do whatever it can to stop you. Its mist will transform, and become that which you are most afraid of, or that one thing that can pierce all your walls, topple all your defenses and lunge straight for the heart.

 

When I stick my head above the parapet and I see a siren walking through a beautiful meadow, or down a forest trail dripping with morning dew and gleaming with rays of sunshine, you will see nothing but an insidious goo lurking forth on top of charred remains and ashen earth.

 

When the beast turns its attention on you, your eyeballs may roll back into your head, and you will relive that car accident forever. It will fill your ears with guilt- "It's your fault" it will say. I will snap you out of it, so long as you do not allow me to give into my temptation.

 

This disease is something very personal for all of us. It threatens to expose your secrets, and exploit your weaknesses, and warp your entire perception of reality.

 

But we're also in this together. At the end of the day we must see through its disguise and see it for what it really is. And together rise from our foxholes, charge from our trenches amidst a maelstrom of horror, and face the enemy.

 

All of us will die eventually. Whether it be swallowed by our foe, or back at home when we're veterans much too old for combat. Many will never understand the true heroic actions that we do every day, but fortunately most will try. They'll see the scars.

 

Just know that every victory you help fight for, even the slightest respite - a Christmas ceasefire - is worth it to all of us.

 

Raise your glasses high. Take a drink. Cheers to all of you.

Edited by Foxxx

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1 hour ago, Foxxx said:

.....

The conflict seems so far away for the people at home. From our loved one who just wants to see us happy, but doesn't know what to do other than send us letters and hope they reach us across the vast sea. So far from our family who remember how healthy and alive we used to be. We're somewhere deep within the recesses of our own mind, a place they can only reach with pleading screams to come home that sound like whispers, drown out by the dogs of war.

 

There is hope though. No matter where you are on this earth... When we go to this place, we're going to the same battlefields that know no gender, no age, no color. We are not alone, but brothers and sisters in arms; drafted by bad luck to come and fight this war. To keep this foul disease at bay.

....

Wonderfully stated, Mister Foxxx. A beautifully written and insightful free write.

Thank you for sharing!

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Depressed.  

What the f **k does that mean?  

 

Seems like a lesser thing

although our peeks are greater, aren't they?

Our appreciation deeper

Our colour compass, richer

And those moments of escape

When the sun peaks through the cracks

Are we not much more than the normals at that moment?

Whose finest thoughts and poems start with ‘roses are red…

 

in contrast to the life giving that we do for each other daily

Van Gogh, Mozart, broke and begging

Little regarded in their own life

But their works lives hundreds of years later

As ours will

 

Its a rather satisfying thought

to know that i was put on this earth

not to absorb sunshine but to create it

 

so that the tiny windows to adjacent ‘depressed’ cells

where i will never know your figure or your face

only your heart and your soul that you offer

only those 2 tiny things

as though they are lesser

 

that the tiny bit of illumination through imperfect bricks in your cell wasn’t the sun at all, it was me

and the tiny illumination in my cell wasn’t the sun either, infrequent illumination, it was you.

 

Now cry because you want to, don’t hold back

That’s being alive that you’re feeling

i felt it too.

 

No more separable than force and matter….our lux and our nox .

I wish you all happiness, but why curse you that way? 

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Ok guys, as I said before, this is difficult for me. I normally put this stuff on my blog (I'll probably put it there too).

My writing is weird to most. Most people don't know what it is that I'm trying to say. And that's ok with me. Be warned that it is very strange. Or maybe it's just trite crap.

As much as I'd like people to be nice to me, I'd much rather have honesty.

 

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7 minutes ago, Natasha1 said:

Ok guys, as I said before, this is difficult for me. I normally put this stuff on my blog (I'll probably put it there too).

My writing is weird to most. Most people don't know what it is that I'm trying to say. And that's ok with me. Be warned that it is very strange. Or maybe it's just trite crap.

As much as I'd like people to be nice to me, I'd much rather have honesty.

One of the great things about posting art in an artist thread... we're all sort of predisposed to appreciate it. :) Besides, poems can be complete nonsense and no one has to know. Or it could be your deepest secret. Doesn't really matter! I for one enjoyed it.

Thank you for sharing!

 

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Nothing calls
Grey walls and sky
Black of the void
Empty 
Like the pull over the edge,
Irresistible beckoning.
Why do I hesitate?
What holds me here?
Hope?  The greatest lie…
There is no heaven, no hell but what we make.
The curse of awareness
The erosion of time.
I scream in the dark, no one can hear.
I beg and plead but none can comfort.
I reach out and touch nothing.
I am the void
 

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On 4/27/2016 at 10:31 PM, highanxiety said:
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Thought I would reintroduce this topic because it was so successful the first time round.  The first thread developed by a highly creative member, stirred so much interest, and became a safe venue for members to contribute their feelings through artistic expression.  Rather that be writing poetry, songs, drawing and paintings, or just thoughts and feelings.  So many beautiful things were shared in the first thread.  So much talent.  Shall we try again?  My first contribution on this thread:

Hope:

Lately my dreams are about being lost,

never finding a way out of the thick,

never finding a way out from me.

Round and round in circles I go,

the path has no end

or no beginning.

My compass is frozen

no lighthouse to show me the way.

Stuck in a quagmire of mud,

I can't move,  if I don't 

I will be enveloped.

Who will throw me a lifeline, 

something to hold onto 

to pull my self out?

I tried to keep my self 

from sinking into this quick

sand, but with no success,

beginning to accept my fate.

Suddenly a stranger came 

from nowhere throwing me

a rope. I grabbed onto it 

and he pulled me to

solid ground.

The stranger, apparently a hunter

led me out of the thick to a clearing.

I thanked him profusely for 

saving my life.

He said he was drawn to 

the spot where I was,

following his instincts

successfully, most likely

with God's intervention.

He assured me I was safe now 

and asked if I could find my way home.

I said yes and thank you again,

Knowing with hope and believing

a miracle is around the corner,

A dream or not, I learned 

never to lose hope.

Because without hope

there is literally nothing

but surrender.

 

 

 

 

 

I enjoyed that.  This is what I feel like most (maybe almost all) people who are depressed hope/fantasize for - someone, a god or savior, to come and save us.  I used to believe it in a literal sense as an evangelical Christian.  When my faith faded away, depression became harder to deal with and so did creativity, particularly the important part of it that comes from hope/redemption/optimism/light.

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sometimes love is not enough
staring blankly at the walls
sometimes words are just a scarf
windy echoes, closing light behind the doors.

sometimes feelings are enough,
break the fortress of the mind
words that lead the blind through night
words that hurt you deep inside
blasting holes, sinking your ship
Oh Lord words are enough
and when sleeping, moves you to the other side
thorning your fragile awaiting, eternal whip
the illusion is set free, windy echoes in the night.

while the body never breaks
my inside is vastly shaped
by your sourness bringing hands
by me leaving, by the end.
and perhaps the light could follow
endless halls inside my heart
but this light is oh, so hollow
blanking staring in the dark.


 

 

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They wouldn't be angry,
If all the cripples died,
Torment submission,
Aiding the return supply,
If life is a battle,
I'm going for the nukes,
Laughter in slaughter,
Psycho combat troop,
Where is my place?
On this s***ty floating rock?
Impossible for me to know,
A ship without a dock,
I know that future self,
Your thoughts turn to ash,
Can't designate the pain,
Burning school go to class,

Separated but these things get to me,
A pretty slick gun up against my head,
My disease calls for the pillars of scum,
One more second and I'll know I'm dead,

An army of failures,
Their Angels disappeared,
Stick the needle in my arm,
It's everything I've feared,
Their temples surround us,
Descend into our pit,
Humiliations disaster,
At the very top of it,
Time for the suicide,
Now I am a phantom,
Spilt the seeds of enemies,
Never had to plant them,
Walk in my footsteps,
Dance on the whirlwind,
Three trillion bullets,
Death to every human,

Worship the night our stars don't care for us,
My mind feels like I'm drenched in gasoline,
When we take our fall how far can we go?
These bad thoughts will forever be inside me

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You look out of the window a year past the day you choose to remember. You see dryer and sunnier weather this time, but one thing is missing from this day, this year. A year later you may know what those letters on the page gave you, what hope they instilled in you, and that they weren't all that they seemed. While those letters choose to reveal more, the person you think about who was there that day chooses to stay away. After all, the letters haven't helped you recently, in fact, no one has, no one except yourself, and that's because that person who you wrongly compare yourself to - at any given opportunity - has been somewhat absent. But what you feel for them isn't anger for a lack of being, it's a longing for them to return. To return to their life and again be a part of yours. You've told them you miss them too many times for you to not hate yourself for doing it, and in your head, deep down, you know what the ultimate conclusion will be...

 

"Sorry I've been really busy, how have you been :p"

 

But you knew that was coming, and sadly you know how you will proceed. An encore of the usual "I'm good, so what have you been up to?" will follow suit, but while you type unknowingly and without thinking, somewhere in your mind the later part of that simple sentence you knew was coming will be burning. It burns all your insides and you're left with the embers of regret that are imprisoned in a jail of embarrassment, because you know you've lied, tried to hid beneath the words and letters, and between the lines. While your insides continue to blaze away, your exterior remains calm, colle

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You may prefer the sunrise
The joy of love arriving
The heralding promise of a new day rising
Rising in a sky drenched with color
And washed clean over time
Yes, you may prefer the sunrise
As she begs for your attention
Waiting for a reminder of your affection

But what about the sunset
The sweet ache of love departing
The swift, bleeding fall of an avenging goddess of light
Splitting the horizon in violent glory
Before plunging your world into darkness
No, don't forget the sunset
As she disappears, leaving you blind
Searching for a light until you realize...
She left you the stars

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At the moment

though I've felt confused

And my thoughts have been blurred

i find that I am reassured

just to be able to come on to this site 

there is an atmosphere

of kindness here

When 

as at the moment

ive really stopped and heard

then I feel kindness

has touched me

somewhere inside

In just one single word

(or two)

thankyou

 

really hoping that people here have a really bright day in just the way I have felt so moved and overjoyed to find a sudden lift from low mood

very best wishes

i know my poem is technically very mediocre but in terms of the sentiment I really wanted to say how being here has lifted me greatly out of the despair I had been feeling for many hours earlier. 

 

Soloviola

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I'm drowning

I'm at the edge of the cliff

I have lost years to my illness

I have missed opportunities

my heart hurts, my head is clouded, my body aches

anger is pushed down

sadness is a blanket

anxiety follows me everywhere

triggers are all around

memories rush in before I have a chance to take cover

I'm trapped

 

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Survivingdepression1  

can I just offer some thoughts. Though I've never posted to you before I wanted to say I really hope that there is always a way to walk free from what might often seem an impossible trap

ive suffered for many years too from depression and I just hope that when people endure the worst that it isn't in vain. I really do believe that somewhere (although I am admittedly still searching for it) there must be a candle alight with hope in the deepest darkest cave. Right now if you are feeling trapped I hope that there will be light reaching you today. I often think that it's true writing verses sharing thoughts and ideas with others does make life better. For other people as well who glean an insight through them. Right now although I know I'm very new here can I offer best thoughts and wishes. 

Sending kindness and good will

 

soloviola

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