‘Be a writer,’ they said, ‘and everything will be sunny.’ What THEY always fail to grasp is that The Past is not a happy foreign country you visited in your teens, but the armoire of utter torture and despair. Today, I took notable moments from my life and condensed them all into 18 poems. No, this isn’t autobiography but a sort of loose-fit chronology around how my mental issues have blossomed and faded, risen and fallen around notable events in my existence and that, in the end, everything ends up as a bit shit. Sure life becomes progressively tolerable, and no it’s my problem and not anybody else’s, but the fact remains. Mental health is not a fun topic to write about.
It is probably no wonder people avoid talking about it as a result.
Except the only way you get attention is by doing just that. It ain’t sunny or fun, and there’s a reason, but in amongst the dirt and pain I found some gold today, descriptive nuggets that give me hope this is doable and possible. It is a tough ask to get these things out in the open but when it is done, the affect on your whole being alters. It is no lie that I feel lighter and happier now, that work was completed that normally wouldn’t have been done. The removal of mental blocks can and does have a positive effect on general well-being.
What needs to happen now? The stuff has to be finished and sent off. That’s a week’s work, and it will be done to the better than best standard that has previously been set, and then some. Suddenly, these poems have become quite significant.