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From: Robert Braham
Were Noah's Scene switchplayed tonight, I, jejune God, decide: Carotid cut, I'd act my out, The world destroyed by pride. Instead I'll Sing myself to sleep With thoughts of suicide; And Happy Hamlet, warm-jammied Plath, By Zoloft's vials denied. "I feel so Sad today," hummed Boo-hoo Bloom, Affecting hurt inside; A fiction squared, a penpal's flirt, Our lullabies allied.
From: Rick
I was diagnosed as MD about 5 years ago. No real drama, just took lithium.
Here are a couple of things I have written lately... Both of these were written for my sweetie.
LOST & FOUND I’ve lost my heart You hold it The ache in my soul, it’s You who heal it You are so pure to me Pure, love, pure joy So sing with me tonight Sing with me forever We’ll play together We’ll stay kids and wherever we go, we’ll love Life carries us onward Through rivers of tears And breezes of joy And though it can be tough at times We’ll have each other To hug and hold Love has found us Again, my dear, we Come together, we Join our hearts and sing Let’s keep singing; I’m ready Sing with me the song we have always sung I’ll give you all I am You’ll have me beside you Tonight, tomorrow – we’ll see the stars From the nest we share You and I are more than just you – and I
FOLLOW THE FIRE We all live life the way We think we’re supposed to We all do the best we can as best we know how But our best just is not good enough We need to seek the best That is out there for all of us We need to Follow the Fire (CHORUS) Follow the Fire See the flame? Give chase! Follow the fire Our spirits soar within the glow The daily grind can make us dust Life is not always fair Listen to that inner voice, though And Follow the Fire Make haste to catch the embers Don’t wait! Keep the hope we all have inside As you Follow the Fire CHORUS Love is what lit the fire Love is what gave us life If you have it, keep it If you cherish it, it will grow, so… CHORUS Feel your spirit soar as you Follow the Fire
Tina writes:
I thought I'd contribute some writing I did at one of the lowest points in my life. It stands in stark contrast to my finally finding a decent doctor who can combine medication AND working with actual human beings.
It's quite depressing, but it reminds me how valuable each small step of progress really is.
NIGHT numb powerless no control tired mournful of a good day where have you gone sunshine clouded by dark sleep jolt coffee break alarm clock rings shut off go to sleep get up when next day not far away lost pain where is my memory where is my organization where did my concentration go over there under the bed close yet not where are you phone calls no one answers all alone no stay up concentrate work hard due rewards blur print can't see beyond the black ink dark closed tight fit hysteria groundless fears stop worrying everything will be all right stay alert get the job done tired no excuses stop your whining powerless lack of control sleep awaits just a few winks everything will be back to normal don't worry stop your complaining do the work and stop procrastinating tomorrow's here and what have you done but sit by yourself and stare at the white of the walls and the black of the print while accomplishing nothing of merit. (c) Tina M. Cruikshank, 1996
die a slow death unfortunate that in order to die one must live. to get it over with quick painless easy my goal simple yet unwieldy for what is left of my sanity refuses to let me commit my final act. (c) Tina M. Cruikshank, 1996
There is nothing left that I know of there is nothing I remember that makes anything worth recalling. sorrow past present indefinate soothing pain lets me fall into a deep sleep from which I do not wish to awake yet the alarm clock sounds and breaks my chilly peace that I have longed to find. (c) Tina M. Cruikshank, 1996
I can't hear anything the silence is deafening and disturbing my peace of mind what's left of it. Nothing left what is whole only bits and pieces to hold onto with all that is left which is not a lot. Mindless rantings good for the soul the wary soul that wants to die to rest to sleep to bury itself under the silence. (c) Tina M. Cruikshank, 1996
Silent mourning for the person I was cheery girl there never was but energy made it so. Aspirations hard to come by as each day is filled with want for the person I was Concentrating on the past while struggling to get by the days nothing left for the future which gets dusty with neglect. (c) Tina M. Cruikshank, 1996 Thank you for such a page.
And thank YOU for making it what it is. :)
From: Donna Rubin
Here are 2 poems, one humorous, one ironic.
XMAS IN 2 NORTH
(note: CA is the isolation area or quiet room)
Twas the night before Xmas; it had been a long day,
Two North was quiet, yes, even CA!
Most patients were warmly tucked in their beds
It was after 10, so they’d all had their meds.
At the desk sat Debbie, busy on the phone,
There were folks in the sunroom where a movie was shown.
In the dining room artwork adorned all the walls,
And earlier that day, they’d sung ‘Deck the Halls’.
Socks were hung in the laundry room with care,
In hopes that a new dryer soon would be there.
In the kitchen lay remains of cookies and cake,
It’s amazing how much of a mess people make!
A patient was crying, in need of TLC,
Another one sat, fast asleep at TV.
The census was high, folks of all ages,
All recovering, in different stages.
Suddenly, footsteps were heard to sound,
The nurses got up and began looking around.
No patient was missing, CA was secure,
What’s going on? They couldn’t be sure.
They thought, could it be, just like in the poem?
Where St. Nick visits somebody’s home?
One nurse exclaimed, “We could sure use a hero!”
And who should appear but Dr. Shapiro!
Not Santa at all, just a very nice man,
Who does for his patients whatever he can.
As do all of the staff, from doctors to aides,
And they get all too few of their deserved accolades.
I give this to them, my holiday verse,
I’m a former patient, who once felt alot worse.
To all who’re admitted, try to have hope and good cheer,
Whatever solace you need, you will find it here.
However you celebrate, whatever your rite,
Happy holidays to all, and to all a good night!
Donna Rubin 12/95
DRUGS AND LABELS
I get up in the morning
A couple of pills are due.
Hmmm, let me see now...
2 yellow, 1 pink, 1 blue.
I keep them In a little box,
That doles them out each day.
It further subdivides the meds,
I take them right, that way.
One pill is an anti-depressant,
It's supposed to keep me from sinking
Down into a depressed hole
Doesn’t always work, I'm thinking!
Another pill is a hormone
For a sluggish thyroid gland.
And then there's the one I'm at war with,
It makes me feel too "bland".
It's called a "mood stabilizer"
It sounds like a mechanical device.
To be fair, it sometimes helps my mood,
But the side effects aren't nice.
I take a bunch of pills at nite,
That are supposed to make me drowsy.
But some nites, they just do not work,
And in the morning I feel lousy.
So why do I take these pills, you ask?
Well, now, that is quite a tale.
I've been told I'm this and that,
Diagnoses must have been on sale!
I've been struggling with an illness,
At least that's what I'm told.
It seems that no one can agree,
And I'm just getting old.
It's only supposed to matter
How I really feel, they've said.
But somehow without a label
I'm lost inside my head.
I guess I'll keep on trudging
And dutifully swallowing the pills.
Until somehow they find a "cure"
For whatever are my ills!
Donna Rubin 1/96
From: Beth Sanguine
Plea to the Valproic Acid Deity Depakote, depakote, so fleeting fair What giveth of girth & taketh of hair; What maketh limbs tremble & knotteth intestine -- I uppethed you, Dammit! Work this time!
sent by Gregary A. Hyslop
>> This is a poem that my wife wrote. She is a BiPolar, and wrote this soon
>> after her return home from her most stay in the hospital.
"Oh Manic Days"
Memories rushing back and forth, getting clearer like the star of the north.
Living life once more, again, picking a good spot of where to begin.
Boy oh boy this is what happiness is about, not owning others problems,
doing it without doubt.
Feeling good, feeling fresh, always better you know, good, better, best.
I don't know where all this is coming from, but finally again, I feel as one.
Maybe this time, the good stuff will last, maybe I'll get through the bad of
my past.
Maybe, yes maybe, it's an awfully big word, but now I can shout it and
really be heard.
Once again I have HOPE, enough to last, and for the first time in years, I'm
singing my song
Good, better, best luck to the rest.
I'm living in bliss, for in me I invest.....
Lena
3-96
by GJV
like the loving grandma who rocks endlessly crying babies in ICU
like the master gardener who roams his garden at midnight
singing lullabyes and murmuring promises of beauty and order
The bright Winter Sun, with the assistance of blue skies,
nuzzles me
and pushes me gently back in
to Life.
From: Laura Cook
Mah Sista! Some ramblings for your corner:
Catharsis Needed Apply Within Wish fulfillment and Freud are killing me and so are you (c)1994 Laura Cook with artist's eyes i look i see the rain tracing lines and curves on the bus window and i realize as reluctant as i am to enter the rain outside my window i am more so to enter the rain of my mind (c)1990 Laura Cook Wordsworth. That man was just too damn happy. But, then again, he looked to flowers and trees and bridges and buildings to make him happy, not people. So, perhaps, he was the smartest of us all. (c)1989 Laura Cook
From: RobertH817@aol.com
They laughed at the world. They laughed because it did not make them happy. They laughed each time they fell blindly from the crooked ladders of their existence, and when their souls cracked on the dirty pavement below, and when their dreams shivered and nearly faded in the icy winds of the inevitable aftermath. They laughed in the moonlight, not really the brave midnight soldiers that they pretended to be, not really brave in the darkness of sin, not really resisting the silver spoon but eating from it, swallowing the blackness whole and only listening as it quenched whatever remaining embers of hope that were burning deep within them. They laughed at the whole thing, the whole ugly mess that someone above them looking down was probably laughing at Himself, chuckling and heaving and wheezing uncontrollably at their world gone wrong. They laughed with Him. They laughed the whole rotten time, cursing like cynics until they were hoarse old women and men at age eighteen, their only solace in the fact that the sun would sometime rise. For, the girls and boys within them could still see that with every dusk of the soul there is a dawn of enlightened justice. by Jeremy Holm, 17 diagnosed at sixteen with bipolar (moderate)