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mental illness

A bitter taste lingers in my mouth,

The taste of vile repulsion,

Years of shame, self-hatred,

Built on acts so irresponsible,

So impulsive, reckless,

No regard for any person

though each one is irrespective

in the throes of manic self-absorption.

It is there, like Midas’ gold,

Glinting in seduction,

Reaching out to grasp

my materialistically mesmerised

collapse of teetering sanity.

My only limitation being

The ability to limit

my recklessness,

To abandon the wisdom

 of abstention.

The creditors’ letters sit in a pile,

Like teachers waiting to scold

And perhaps to chastise,

with a whack of the punitive cane.

Every word burns a scar

Into my defeated, guilty self,

Etched upon my self esteem

Like a deep, raw, acrid wound.

And yet again,

My soul mourns its own stupidity.

© Sarah Louise Drury 2019

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Old man
Faded denim eyes,
Single-glazed windows
To a perpetual peepshow
Of intracomplex interaction;
Glaring china-glass marbles
Gazing, yet not seeing.

Gaping, slackened fish-mouth,
Drip, drop, dripping;
Rivulets of spittle lollop
Onto brackened moor-chin.
Flaccid tongue a-flailing,
Solely monotonous wails
And desperate moans.

Fag-end embers nestled
Between
Charcoaled stumps of fingers,
Hurled off someplace in vicinity
Of the fag-ash graveyard.

Old man, are you here someplace,
Or will you stay forever
As an ex-pat in this land of sanity?

Written during a lengthy hospital admission with mania…

Drug Trolley

Hail! O righteous vessel,
Bearer of great gifts to
Those with faith in
This Messiah of psychiatry.

Wondrous drugs
Of plentious magnitude,
Neurological, psychological
Scrumptious liquorice allsorts.

Plastering, sanding, glossing
Over crumbling foundations,
Psychological invalidity,
Circuitry overload.

Come now,
swallow those meds,
They’ll send away the voices,
Ease away the pain.

You know you have to cooperate
For we have needles
Longer than your arm,
Must have complete submission.

Glazed and dazed,
The damaged and cracked,
Assert the tablet hierarchy,
‘Only two tonight dear’
‘I take fifty a day you know’.

The climax,
Blessed consumption of the
sacred pills and holy water
Modern deistic ceremony
After the manner of Sigmund Freud.

As the hoardes disperse to
Separate dimensions of space,
Time and delusion;
Broken, shattered fragments
Of a once-whole mirror,

They praise their holy trinity,
In the name of the
Trolley, drug and Holy Nurse.

Amen.

I have manic depression or bipolar disorder. This means that my emotions and moods swing violently between depression and mania. Some days I wake up full of the joys of spring and other days its a real effort to get out of bed. This was a bad day…

This morn the sun forgot to rise,
A veiled, grey, nightmare moment,
web of ‘no I cannot do this day’ once more,
Beneath plump duvets of obscurity.

This morn the clock just laughed
A hollow, crazy cackle,
Random scattered moments painted on
A timeless time machine.

This morn Her mind just broke
Innumerable insane fragments,
Shattered, broken remnants, looming,
Grasping at insanity.

Hail! Oh hallowed Saviour
Of society
This crazy epidemic of
Insanity,
Life between the veils
What’s real, what’s fantasy?
Clutching, clawing, grasping
At reality.
Go chill, take a pill, the sane mill,
Travesty,
It’s uncool, madness, such an insane
Malady.
Yet grounding, rooting, back to body
Gravity,
Miracles of modern medics
Clarity.
So take it, just a pill, for total
Equanimity.

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