Mental Health

To whoever stole my antidepressants, I hope you’re happy with yourself. It’s so weird when you have mental illness and take medication for it, all your friends disappear and don’t want to talk anymore. Now people know that that I have a screw loose, they tell me they believe in me all the time, so I am guessing they didn’t before. I now live with my mental illness; my wife is super jealous towards it because it’s always on my mind.

They say my condition runs in the family and I am on a cycle of new drugs, way too much exercise for me and I never run from my problems. #LazyCrazyWriter

I write until the wheels fall off, must be why I am always tired. Scribbling this down on paper, on the edge of my bed, I hope I drop off soon. I tell people I am tired and their response is to go to sleep, they don’t understand me when I say tired. If you don’t feel like screaming all the time, we can’t be friends.

In this post I take a few funny jabs at my mental illness, this purely my attitude towards it all. Some days I can laugh and shine a light on the problems and other days I stay under the covers and keep myself in that dark place.

My world is not your world; my problems are not your problems. But if I can just be here and tell you, you are not alone in this, then I am taking a step to help beat this. I am not going to imagine what you’ve been through or going through. I just want you to know, help is out there for people like us. There are online chats and telephone helplines if you ever need to talk. If you need them, use them, that’s why they are there.

Hey, here’s my E-mail if you ever need to vent. psychowriteralex@gmail.com

I will be back soon with a new story.

Be good and be safe.

Alex

Who Am I?

demons pic

WHO AM I?

I’m a walking nightmare, my hands around my own throat, can’t shake awake! I’m dying to write dynamic dynamite; writing is my form of dialysis, I need all the badness out. A mental state of emergence has now been issued to you, personally. This is no jocularity; I mean this all the way down to my tormented soul. I’m rattling and shaking, I’m not afraid; you will twig-on when I snap. I’m digging up my own past, shovel in hand; I need answers and resolve some unfinished business, so you can lollop around my questions but remember this is my job, I write like a boss.

Misanthropy over here! So you’re either with me or against me, I’m going to war with humankind. I swindle and hustle my way out from my psychiatrist meetings; they label my big-toe as sane and packed me back to the free-world I am coming to conquer. If you were smarter you would have caught me out. I bring no attention to my shell, I blend in, disappear and robot-dance my way into the crowd, my circuits have shorted but this has made me a bigger man. If you knew my story, you would burn my book.

I’m heat-seeking for inner-peace,

But before I be seated,

These are my proposed proceedings,

I’m pulling out all my deep seeded beliefs,

A concocted mix of special needs, my inner-beast and deceit,

These are the things which live deep in me.

I am a soldier of the apocalypse,

Holding hostage every major metropolis,

If you can’t topple this, copy this,

Looking for my mind,

As I look for a lost wish.

I’m not a writer; I am the reaper of words,

My life is on an egg-timer,

What can be worse than being the worst?

Strand by strand,

I stand before you less than half the man,

I’m a problem they buried,

Now it’s time to raise hell,

The feeling of lost and deserted,

“This is what you deserve, kid.”

I cut myself to excel the bad blood,

It’s all fun in Hell,

Fall down this wonder-well,

Hurry-up before it gets backed up.

I’ve lost my mind,

A search and rescue team,

They can’t find me,

Yeah, laugh it up!

Back when I was fighting for life,

It was frightening,

My personal war of Clash of the Titans.

It’s time to unbind the blind,

And just enjoy the ride.

don't-stop-writing

I’m not coming down from this high, until I am grounded and surrounded by stars. An operated opened sternum sense of a nonsensical life, I have. My real name is Addict, I pour a bowl of Pill-pops, add my milk or vodka-shots and spoon my mouth what it needs. No more secrets, I am an opened book… I need help, I think. I have isolated all I love with my ice-cold heart. I am living a double life and people are fatigued trying to figure me out. How do I join the living again?

Welcome once again to my ribaldry! Sanctimoniously I dribble around what I truly need to deliver, but effusively I fumble my falsehood. I am a walking, writing blob of human but with a side dollop of insane lollop; you can be just like me. Still impecunious, but that is okay, one day I will dream and wake to a happy ever after. Perhaps I am impervious to a happier time? What I truly am in most eyes is an indemnifying writing object. I have a storm in my heart and love within my eyes; can’t I just touch the tip? Insatiable! I’m I accurately jejune to you?