Archive for category dark poetry
She sat there on the edge of the lake with with her feet dangling in the cool dark waters. Her body was present, but her mind drifted off to darker places. Occasionally she was aware of her silent surroundings, but the loudness of her thoughts robbed her of the peacefulness of her surroundings.
She could no more silence the deafening noise of her own thoughts then she could stop the endless flow of the warm tears that streamed down from her cheeks. Her sadness came from years of struggle, and from the realization that most of what she believed to have been the truth in her life was nothing more than a world that only she inhabited.
I’m not sure if the pain of not being able to recognize the fact that she had created the illusion, or the thought that no one around her even noticed its existence was more devastating. Perhaps she lives within a world that only exists within her head, or maybe she is just simply unable to see the world that actually exists.
Either way she is lost within the darkness of the waters. She dangles between two worlds wondering which one holds the truth, unable to discern how to cross over to a world not designed by her own perceptions. Then she wonders if everyone resides in a world of their own design, their own illusions. If she steps into the dark waters will she swim, or simply become a part of them.
Once there was you,
now your lost somewhere deep inside.
Anxious, anxiety ridden, and frustrated with life.
Confused by my words, saddened by my requests.
I wish there was some way of letting you know that
I understand that you’re doing your best.
Lost in a world that is so different from mine,
emerging ever so often feeling left behind.
Like a ghost on the outside whose presence remains.
I wonder if you could run what place would you hide.
We would like to thank Blahpolar for nominating us for the Discouraging Blunder Reward (Encouraging Thunder Award, G-uno ;)). We are huge fans of her Blog! If you want to raise your I.Q. on a daily basis then you should definitely read her posts (I call it a roller coaster of words and sensory input not to be missed!)! She is an extraordinary, creative writer who is dedicated to raising the public’s awareness towards mental illnesses. The goal of this reward is to show some love to other Bloggers by visiting the other nominees sites. Of course properly thank the Blogger who has nominated you! 😉 State your reason for blogging, nominate other bloggers for the reward, and share the logo on your post.
G-uno – I have always been fascinated by other people’s perceptions, and interpretations! I am a huge fan of the truth, and blogs give a lot of lead way for people to express themselves. I also wanted to be able to openly write about my own life. It’s something g2 and I have chosen to not tell our family & friends about. The fact that it’s our little secret certainly has it’s own appeal! 😉
g2 – I’m kind of torn as to whether I like the original or BlahPolar’s adjustment, so I’m displaying both. Like G-uno said, we do this away from the knowledge of our families and friends since they are such a big part of our lives. No matter how much we love them, adore them, cherish them, sometimes you just have to let it out the dirty and ugly thoughts they might never be able to fully understand if they were able to pry in on it and it would be almost essential to edit things if anyone we knew were reading. This way we don’t. G-uno and I may be friends in the real world, but we have always respected the honesty of the other and don’t tend to get ruffled easily. I spend most every day having to work on keeping some semblance of a filter. It’s exhausting.
The above video is by Emilie Autumn. I’ve never heard of this musician before my kid ended up with a custom Sim on their video game (Sims 3) called the same which they had downloaded just because of the unique look of her. After a bit of googling, I found out she is a musician and dug them up on Spotify. Through my googling I found out she was a survivor of abuse, rape and assault, and had a pretty rough case of bipolar disorder which included auditory hallucinations. She apparently can visualize written music because of coping mechanisms she developed to keep the hallucinations under control.
I’m in a very musically submersive mood lately. Not that I’m not always listening to something, but sometimes I will drown in it. This is apparently one of those times.
My first impression of her music was Amanda Fucking Palmer had a lovechild with Maggie Estep in a Victorian Cabaret, her songs were riddled with storyline and tongue in cheek blasting on a lot of women’s issues as well as society’s complete inability to deal with mental health. Through listening to her latest album, which you can hear on Spotify at least, I realized just how right she was and my god, how beautiful she puts it out there and serves it to us, all the while never backing down from being just as shocking and blunt as she wants to be.
Amanda Palmer is a survivor of past assault… Siouxsie Sioux too. These people too and these (from WordPress, no less), and here’s a list of over a hundred songs that relate to abuse, assault and/or rape. And these are just the famous ones, I would not doubt if everyone knows of at least 5 other people who have been victims of some type of abuse/assault, or possibly were yourselves.
Why? What the hell is wrong with people?
I think we have all come to understand that rape is not about sex, but about power. I’ve never understood why there was so much fear of (mostly) women that rape was the main go-to men used against them. I’m not going to get into the politics of female-on-male rape, but I would like to point out that men and women both have reflex biological reactions to tactile stimuli, none of which indicates “consent.” If we didn’t have these responses, sex would not be very pleasant for the times we do consent. Not even if someone was walking down the street completely naked are they “asking for it,” and if a victim is acting “too normal” its probably because, like most us, we want our lives back to where they were before trauma.
But what if you have a mental disability or behavioral disability that makes it difficult for you to interact with others or communicate fully? If you don’t tell those close to you, they probably won’t be close for very long, but what about work and or dating relationships? If you do tell them, do you risk the chance they might objectify you and feel that anything you say has no value since you’re “crazy”?
I already have an epic truckload of issues with the mental health field and its current level of capability. I also have a problem with the level of stigma that is created in which people are only defined by their most prominent weakness. “Oh they were depressed… that’s definitely why they killed their entire family, case closed.” I don’t know about you but when I am in the height of my depression, I can barely come off the couch. It’s usually my overall apathy that tells me I need to get my meds adjusted.
I think the mental health field is about the same level as, historically, the medical field was when leeches and bloodletting were the main go-to for… well, everything. Combined with our bad habit of objectifying someone with a special hurdle in the russian roulette that is genetics & heavy dose of environment, you have a recipe for a lot of problems with assault and rape. Who is going to believe the freak, right?
Personally, the kind of person who would think like that, who would take advantage of that type of situation… they need the special needle…quickly. You’d euthanize a rabid dog, I find no difference here… except the dog couldn’t help it, we just can’t cure it. Actually, can we keep the dog and just eliminate the twisted as fuck human?
The sad part is proving it. The only ones they victimize are the ones who long stopped bothering to say anything because no one listens anyway, their words have no merit. Makes us pretty fucked up as a society, doesn’t it?
But Emilie drags her pain and her weaknesses and everything ever done to her right in the middle of the room and makes you look at it, refuses to let you turn away and makes a bitter joke of it to make you face it and see it all for the truth behind the lies. She, like Amanda and Siouxsie wear their past like armor and use it to toss a giant middle finger at anyone who thinks they should behave “more like a victim” to be credible.
It reminds us the problem doesn’t lie with disability or trauma. It lies with our treatment of those who have suffered, those who have a disability and most especially those who have dealt with both… we all matter, no matter what your unique color or flavor may be, we are humans, the most complex of animals, we just need to stop behaving otherwise.
I stand by your bed side, and every single day I hope that you will be your old self again. Only hope could bring me to a place where each day holds an unimaginable level of misery to the depths of my soul.
For three years, and five months I have watched your essence slip gradually away. Just like the visitors who use to come. They say that they can’t continue to come, and to see you wither away. I have the opposite fear. Every single day I fear the day will come when I will not see you again.
Your will to live frightens them. They see a weakened old man. I see a great warrior who refuses to be beaten. You are so much stronger than we will ever be. I will stay by your side for as long as you fight. I will be your eyes, your ears, and your voice every single day.
My misery is not caused by your existence. It comes from my inability to bring you back to the place I know you long to go every single day…
He knows she lies there awake waiting ,
for the sound of the key to turn in the door.
A sound she fears will not occur.
She leaves on a small light so that if she falls asleep
from the pure exhaustion of waiting for the sound of the key
to turn in the door it will let her know he is there.
Sometimes the sound of the key never comes,
and the small light continues to light the room.
Her mind slips to deepest darkest corners,
the thought that maybe this time there will not be the
relief of seeing his face again.
Sometimes she hears the key turn in the door.
It takes her mind to a different place of darkness.
He slumbers in like an ungraceful bear,
trying ever so hard not to be noticed.
Facing her ends the illusion that he has gone unnoticed.
It brings them both to a place they have visited way too many times before.
A place where her desires are of no equal to his.
Each time the key turns, or the the light dims,
there is a small sense of relief.
Followed by the reality that she will meet this fate again,
when the next night comes.