Long Rock bottom Poems
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they say forgive and forget
remember and hold to account
seems to be frowned upon
and memorable events take a while
to manifest digest and process
narratives change with the core
at every reason and heart
‘everything is wrong and it is all your fault
what exactly you will have to find out yourself
I will put our relationship into a drawer
and possibly open it again once you …’
have changed to her wishes?
relinquished any meaningful part in the drama?
conceded to her perfidious pantomime?
are totally broken?
‘you claimed that one cannot talk to a depressed one
but were you not projecting your discontent?’
years on the metaphorical couch
like a spider in a cobweb of distrust
attempting to just pull one string
breaking at rock bottom
with someone else throwing rocks
from a fortress of a glass house
accusations lies silence pretense of innocence
and turning children against him
he walked a difficult path
many a time running on empty
but eventually it turned out to be
the best thing that could happen
and he found new love
made peace with his offspring
invested in kindness and compassion
now lives with his lover and soulmate
chapters however can only be closed
when the epilogue has been written
when the spine of the book
stands upright in truth
for years he maintained that she
could not have done any better
did not cope with her own crisis
and he absolved her from further critique
the protagonist eventually found his voice
He has become I and I lay to rest
my memories of that evil malignant
and greedy you chose to become
it was you who tore me apart
and watched with satisfaction
when I became vulnerable and depressed
discredit where discredit is you
it is not about settling score
or spread sheets of retribution
simple honesty will do and
I don’t have to be nice
because poems understand
and refrain from judging the writer
but deep in my soul I do not care
that you have turned lonely and bitter
because while I am privy to
exquisite satisfied pleasure
you made your bed
and that is empty for a reason
trying to hack out my eyes and essence
made me spread my wings joyfully
and you are an old haggard crow
merely feeding on crumbs
05th August 2021
"We chase unreachable heights, in the hope to find happiness,
Only to find we are still the same, because in fact we are chasing ourselves."
(Triggered and inspired by a conversation this morning between Arthur Vaso and myself)
I have crashed many times over the past five years. Many, many times before realising I was chasing my own tail.
Does this mean that I don't crash anymore? On the contrary. I came back last week from a three-week stay in a mental hospital. Oh, I crash and when I do, I do it good and hard. Rock bottom, here I come.
Then what?
Realization is just a first step. It can also be the first hurdle, the one you never get over, that one that you will see in the distance and that becomes so BIG when you come near it, that it seems it will swallow you whole.
It's a first baby step.
What is unreachable? That is a first question everyone needs to answer for themselves. It's different for everyone, but we all share this: if we don't realize we are chasing a phantom, or our own tail, we will end up bitter and frustrated.
Unreachable for me (to make it less abstract) is:
- walking;
- playing the violin again;
- dancing again;
- speaking fluently;
- not feeling lonely;
- setting goals that jeopardize my mental and physical health.
Up until recently I tried to achieve the impossible by trying to reach every one of these goals. Seeing this list I think that everyone who knows me realizes that it's a list that is setting me up for failure. And I finally agree.
I used to try and aim for the impossible. And I admit it still feels a little like defeat by admitting I can never reach these goals. It made me deeply depressed at first, almost suicidal. But I am slowly learning to set new goals, little steps, small things that make me not only happy, but also proud of myself.
Like writing poems, alone or together with the marvellous poets I met here in Soup and among my other friends. Or finding out what fun sports are available in a wheelchair when you also have limited use of your arms. Or finding friends, even though my loneliness is innate (also something I needed to learn to accept.)
I still chase myself. But I set the reachable goal now that I finally found the truth: I am aiming for acceptance of self.
Comments and discussion greatly appreciated.
***
January 22, 2017
I had an epiphany today
The first one in a long time
Such an interesting organ the brain
So many studies
Yet no one knows how consciousness really works
And if it even abides in the brain at all
My brain has been broken
And I alone am the only one who can fix it
Broken people
Not having it all together people
Don't always realize this
Or they have traveled so far down the rabbit hole
They no longer want to
Which leads me to my epiphany
Not only is my reality not yours
It does not need to be
I cannot describe the pureness I felt in that moment
The freedom
I started to cry
It wasn't until the moment I felt those chains slip free
Did I realize they were encasing me
I had been a prisoner in my own mind
Trying to be what everyone else wanted me to be
Never realizing my own voice have been turned on mute
Suddenly the beauty that I had been blind to for weeks months years
Surrounded me
Colors bombarded my eyes even as tears flowed out of them
And the birds... ah yes the birds
They have come to represent an evil few have ever known
I think I might remember what a dove used to sound like
But the song that reaches my ears no longer bares any resemblance
To the song that reaches yours
But as of this moment I am OK with that
Because this is the life I live now
I did not choose it
It was forced upon me
My faceless enemies
These monsters had their fun
But they did not win
Because I live every moment of my life
I have never allowed it to just pass me by
And though I have not chosen the path I was forced to take
It has been my choice to rise above
With strength, integrity and empathy
Always empathy
And though I have not one bit of knowledge on how to conquer the unknown
My story will be written
So that the forgotten will know they are not alone
I will shout it from the mountains high
And though I know many will not believe
I just need enough to realize the truth
Because while I was in the vipers pit everywhere I turned
Complete darkness
I know that so much was a delusion
Yet I also know that enough of it was irrefutably true
To let me know that it was real
It only takes a spark
And although it goes against my very compassionate nature
I want to burn these Mother F***ers to the ground
09/31/2019 Rock Bottom Pick a Line any Line Poetry Contest Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
His tough love broke me down
His tough love put everything in perspective
His tough love made me better
His tough love brought out perfection
And if it takes me lying in this bed
So be it
It gave him satisfaction
Even though its not what I wanted it to be
He was the manual I followed for love
And everything I followed had me dead
But I saw the grin in his face
So I would follow the script over and over again
But could have things been different?
What would happen if I hadn’t gazed in his bling?
Would it created an effect?
Or would it have not done a thing?
Tough love is bittersweet
And it takes and it takes and takes
Everything out of me for love
But it never make anything beautiful, it would never create
His love was toxic
His love was addicting
I always followed him at every beat
I called it torture, he called uplifting
I was with him in the high
I was with him in the low
Now when I hit rock bottom
He said he has to go
No person found it hard to see
The relationship that we were in wasn’t right
And after he destroyed everything in my life
He decides to leave, and I don’t put up a fight
I am tired of this
Tied down to the bed is the consequence
He left me here sick to die
And went looking for a girl that was a monument
But it love right?
Destroying, hating, belittling
Only person h could love was himself
But everything he done to me was hating
I hate that he tricked me
I hate that I had failed
But not failed to his every obligation and demand
But failed to listen what was always in my hand
I made my voice go mute
Ii stored it and boxed it up in the shelf
Everything I did was for him
I fought for him and never for myself
When everything is said and done
It’s the scars that stay
Its up to me to decide whether I want to keep going forward
Or letting them keep me at bay
I left the hospital looking like me again
The old skeleton puppet was gone
It was up to me to decide
And I want to move on
I look at myself now
I realize I am better that I have ever been
I have found that joy and light
That existed in me from the thick and thin
He was toxic
He was controlling
And what do we do with trash
Well, you know where its going
I have found love
And I have fallen head over heels
Who is that person you might ask?
Well, that person is me
I wake up in the morning and have to decide which side of the bed I will get out of today – it
doesn’t really matter, because there is no one there to block my exit on either side.
I turn on the TV, not to see what’s on, but just to hear another voice in the kitchen other than
the one’s inside my head reminding me that I am having breakfast alone once again.
I once thought that working from home, through the internet, for myself and by myself,
would be a wonderful thing – but, that was when I used to change out of my pajamas at
some time during the day.
Now the keyboard sits there mocking me in my loneliness. The monitor acts more as a
mirror to remind me I haven’t shaved in weeks than it does to display words of a manuscript
that I should be working on.
How lonely am I? I actually called my mother the other day. Rock bottom.
I watch out my window for the approaching mailman so I can open the door as he is
depositing bills I can no longer pay into the mail slot on my door. He says he likes my
Spiderman pajamas the best.
If I had a reason to do so, I would probably take a shower. But then, I have become
accustomed to my own stench and there is nobody else around to offend, save for the
mailman, who I noticed doesn’t hang around to talk much any more. Could be related, I
suppose.
I don’t even please myself any more. My imagination is not sharp enough to fantasize about
things I haven’t experienced for real in such a long time.
There was a time when I would not answer my phone when an 800 number was displayed on
the handset. Today I do. Talking to someone bemoaning that I am late with another
payment, again, is, at least, talking to someone.
Stop mocking me Qwerty!
I have given names to the inanimate objects in my apartment. At times, they talk back to
me. I think today may be my birthday; the dishwasher was smiling at me. The dirty dishes
inside now have mold on them.
The mailman didn’t come today – perhaps it is Sunday. I wore my Spiderman pajamas for
no good reason.
I didn’t write anything again today. These words are just floating around in my head. I am
pretending you are a stranger reading them to make me feel a little less lonely. You
believing you are that stranger is just further validation that I am, indeed, crazy.
crushed at rock bottom he gathered the fragments of descent
slow motion agony that started at a plateau of deluded deceit
free falling sadness spiraling out of control beyond fast repair
the black dog on his shoulder had survived the fall and barked
another round of sadness an insurmountable sorrow cheered on
‘you are useless and even void and oblivion are having a laugh’
a tunnel with no light and the canary asphyxiated in the mine shaft
another panic attack unable to ease the landing of a scarred mind
scared and confused he gathered the pieces and stabbing shards
with broken bones and un-abating accusations he collected his guilt
fears and shame about yet another defeat at the foundation of evil
demons and miserable clairvoyants spoke in bifurcated obsessions
possessed by the mother of all depressions he reached for a glimmer
of hope he searched for a message from science deities and reason
yet unable to guide his emotions all efforts crashed without rescue
the rope had twisted once more and he dangled helpless face down
just enough slack to disfigure his angry face that featured disgust
and yet as the blood flooded his brain he surrendered his objections
one final attempt and he severed the noose with the open fracture of
the razor sharp dislocation sticking out just below the palm of his hand
with a further snap of his wrist and life line he surrendered lost dreams
if life gave you hemlock but the vessel had cracked on the impact
of the smash and grab of lifeless cycle of disassociated insanity he
resolved to drink his own blood and call upon autoimmune response
after all the medication had been useless and hours on Freud’s couch
had only imprinted more festering pressure sores on purulent skin
cognitive explorations had only dragged him further down self-denial
religion mantras and science had failed to invoke sanity and healing
levitation would not emerge when he fell from the edge of madness
the cross lay in pieces and nails had lacerated his heart and resolve
just when he felt the pulse getting weaker and with delirious gaze
he succumbed to a last ditch attempt to reassemble a piece of his soul
wrote an ultimate will on the wall and vowed to hand over let go and live
15th June 2020
Song:- 1990
Mother Mother
love me love me
love me love me
I need your love
(repeat)
why don't you like me?
why do you hate me?
why do you hit me?
Mother Mother
where is your love?
where is the safety I think of?
when I hear -
Mother Mother !!
Mother Mother
are you mine?
why don't you love me?
why do you hate me?
why do you hit me?
Mother Mother
How can I live without love?
I hide in the dark
I build walls in my mind
For I can't believe
Mother Mother
You don't love me.
I have posted this for others that are facing suicidal questions.
This was a healing song written to release my own walls that I used to protect
myself from age 4 and onwards. Was reading Daisy Tyrell request for feedback. Hope it helps a little. I could fill a book on the subject of the fight for life. Will attempt to put some in words as I can.
And it is a fight - those that are willing never to surrender will live. I remember, one time - stuck in a noisy hospital wing, a friend also suicidal at same time in another city. I wrote every moment, filling a large A4 pad. On my knees, crying - I was writing " I want to live" I am willing to live. Over and over. Line after line. Page after page. Also writing to my friend -
encouraging him to fight and live. I won my fight that time -but my friend
did not. When I heard of his death - It put me right back in hospital again.
The fight started all over again -never easy, but I won that one too and several more after that!
Daisy's poem talks of wanting to find beauty within. That may not be what there is to find. A great truth is found the point of rock bottom. Mental health counsellors term it 'bedrock'. When you find bedrock -you find your truest self. It was to my great astonishment I found my bedrock housed an
unquenchable spring of joy! Once I came to terms that this was the real me -
I was able to identify what was capping that well of joy. It took another 15 years to free myself from all those restrictive people. Once totally free never had another mental health issue. Funny that.
I have only shared this to hopefully encourage others. These times are long gone and totally cleared for me. Live a joyous, happy clownish though late starter life. Love always - Virginia
Self-pity became my days in so
many messed up ways,
if only the bottle in my right hand didn’t stay.
I knew I hit rock bottom-
I knew I was reaching near death-
I knew no time could save me,
as I took my last breath.
Flatline,
the fate of mine-
I ran out of time-
for I had become so darn depressed.
A heartbeat appeared as my family feared
I’d never be the same again-
Could there be damage from this affliction
due to my addiction?
I eventually lost all my friends.
I never contemplated ending my life,
for I was a mother and a wife-
I wanted to free myself with grace,
oh, the look upon my husband’s face…
Recovery seemed so far,
as a new flavor of life I craved to taste.
I didn’t want to live a life of waste.
I awoke one morning in
withdrawal and mourning,
for I needed a fix to survive-
But I pulled through and strived
for one more day and had the
strength to stay alive.
A look into my future with a fresh
sewn-on suture,
a mending needle and thread
pulled through with ease-
I needed to rid my life of the rumors,
and needed recovery much sooner
to rid me of this awful disease.
I had a sister back then who
saved me from myself-
I overcame with determination
without contemplation and
fully recuperated to good health.
I needed no wealth,
just sincere motivation and put
that old book upon my top shelf.
For I needed to be free from temptation.
Support groups I attended and many loving
people I befriended and with good counsel
I learned to love within-
God knew my honest life was intended as I
fit in and blended and this battle
I fought I did win.
I may have a broken wing that could never heal,
but this injury reminds of how I don’t wish to feel.
For my past has brought me much adoration,
and forever I shall try to fly in sincere celebration.
The life I hold is completely genuine and real,
as I continue my journey with...
...healthy moderation.
*I will always be grateful for my "broken wing". Thank you for this contest it caused much healing.*
Broken Wing Contest
April 10, 2017
All you need is the will. Where there is a will, there is always a way.
But, my polluted mind couldn't see the path to success ahead.
No map exists to sobriety, or a magical compass to recovery
The lifestyle I once lived, so empty and desolate.
Only able to completely rely on my own self.
For recovery, you need people. And, people are willing to help.
I surrounded myself with all of the acronyms.
AA, NA, MIA. I felt lost in the madness.
A peer in recovery helped me find a start; a Detox program.
These words so unsettling to any real drug addict.
But, this time I was done. Beyond done, Completely over it.
Their medications allowed me to surpass that three day barrier.
A mark of achievement I had so many other times missed.
By day seven, I started to feel slightly more normal.
A pre-dope normal, one that existed before the drugs took over.
But, then I opened my eyes and I saw the doors.
I knew exactly where those doors led to...
They led to the street. They led right back to the needle.
So I just stayed, and moved right into their inpatient program.
A place I swore wholeheartedly I would never go.
The twenty-eight days can be summed up in one word: Reassuring.
Each day I grew more confident, and began to feel reassured.
Just when I came to an acceptance that recovery was truly possible.
Once again, I stood weary at those same two doors.
I decided to speak out. It came from a place of fear and despair.
I was directed into a new form of safe haven.
IOP, with an emphasis on the "intensive."
For four hours a day, for four days a week, I worked at recovery.
Each day building upon my new foundation of inner strength.
When, and only when, I felt completely ready.
I left IOP, and again I immersed myself in those acronyms.
I also found a healthy replacement for my abundant time.
The gym became my therapy, relieving me both body and mind.
Working out was my new "high." Only this time it was healthy.
Through the entirety of this life changing experience.
I learned many new things about life, about myself.
Proving that where there's a will, there is definitely a way.
It took first reaching rock bottom, and the absolute lowest of lows.
to learn first hand, that you can't reach the top, without first being at the bottom.
It has been twelve years
Every one of those years
I have been turned away
by officials of the city
Twelve long years
of being on the housing waiting list
Being the only breadwinner
Times got tougher
To my children I imagine
that to them
I am a failure in many ways
No where for me to seek refuge
The only way is inside my head could convince me otherwise
What do you say to a
man living with cerebral palsy?
Who has to proof himself on all fronts
Spiritually it becomes draining
in a one room flat
He becomes out of touch
with those immediate loved ones
Wife then kids or vice versa
All freedoms are compromised
Specially the kids
As a physical impaired man
I am not much affected
Considering my boarding school days
It becomes tough
when it is an all female club
And I am the only male
and physically impaired
Mentally the impact takes its toll
There is a heaviness within me
I cannot seem to find an outlet
That's why I'm living on a page
Out of control
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liars chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
If you see me smiling
It is a front
this is how I deal with my pain
Many second job attempts fail
I am beginning to doubt myself
I sometimes stare at myself in the mirror
My wife's take on it
is that I am full of myself
That may be the case
It runs much deeper than that
Maybe I am taking her
too much along with me
But I can't help it we are close knit family
The Lord has blessed me
With three daughters
They could write
a book about me
one day if they are aspiring authors
along with my wife as their editor
Poetry is my only sanctuary
My world in black and white
I silently wish for all those material things
Things that is out my grasp of understanding
Why some of us
gets it easy and others hard
Is there a lesson
to us that are disenfranchised
or are we nearing our expiry date?
Hey, it is just a thought
along with my perception of things
Who gets to build us up?
When you hit rock bottom
What is the bottom line?
What if we get to that helpline too late?
What will they say in your obituary
Were you worthwhile living with
Or were you known to be a prick
Only time will tell
Poetry is my only sanctuary
My world in black and white