Bleeding Cuts
by Jessica Cardoza
(New Jersey)
She's all alone in the empty world.
And all you can hear is her cry for help. Each cut on her arm represents something that only she knows. No one seems to understand her, and she feels like she's fighting for her own life. But even though she feels like this she hides it with a smile and says ''everything's okay.'' People seem to believe but only her herself knows it isn't true. The blood still dripping off her arm looks like a deep velvet red that has death written all over it and her tears of sorrow are really the only thing that she has. Still crying, she stares at the silver blade, taunting her as if the world wanted her to be gone and she's stuck between two horrible paths called life and death. The moment's gone and the red velvet blood forms a puddle which is the only thing left of her. Till this day on you can hear her cry for help and still it reaches no one.
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Depression Poems: Who Will Cry for the Little Boy?
by Antwone Fisher (from the movie)
Who will cry for the little boy
Lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy
Abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy
He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy
Who never had for keeps?
Who will cry for the little boy
Who walked the burning sand?
Who will cry for the little boy
The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy
Who knew well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy
Who died and died again?
Who will cry for the little boy
A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy
Who cries inside of me.
Antwone Fisher (from the movie)
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Lost in a Cave with Candles
by Alexander Theessen
(Victoria, BC, Canada)
Floating in an empty cave
With candles above our heads
From the light we swim away
Protecting our flame
For fear of having to spark another
In the dark, I take a lover.
My loneliness is my only friend
When there’s nothing left, I go to him
And he shrouds me within
Memories of ancient agape.
Tormenting me like a spinning top
That I wind up to uncover
The comfort within a fantasy
Of a warmer existence
Our memories begin to freeze
Staring through ice at the ones we like.
Willingly, I never break free
I swim away from the light
And her ghost is my only companion
She haunts me in the night.
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Depression Poems - sitting here in thought
by brandon keith roberts
(monrovia,california,united states)
sitting here in thought
not knowing what to do
so hard have i fought
and still i have no clue
as to why i feel this way
waiting for that one special day
when the tears stop flowing
when the anguish subsides
the day of truly knowing
where the root of it all lies
knowing then how to heal
knowing then how to truly feel
feel life to its full extent
to feel love in its entirety
to know my lifes true intent
and not always feel calamity
will these days ever come
i dont know
but i pray they do....
My name is brandon roberts and that poem was a spur of the moment one. I have many others that I've written over the years but it just felt right to convey how I feel at this particular moment in time. I know many of u will be able to relate to this and feel where I'm coming from.
When I was younger my dad was really hard on us. He never beat us but he whipped us with belts and smacked us in the lip so hard when we swore one of my moms 5 kids would always have a fat lip. But overall he loved us and just did what he thought was best for us.
The real trouble began after he died, for when he died in 2001 my mom kinda died along with him. She stopped trying.
My new stepdad lived with us for 8 years and at first it was ok but then the real him came out. An angry alcoholic who we would avoid at all costs but even he did what he thought was best for us. He once told me the reason he's so hard on me was because if we could survive him we could survive anything.
Which I never fully understood, I see his intent but you don't rage like he did everyday to toughen us up. But in his defense we never were able of showing him any love for he wasn't dad. Even though he took care of us and we couldn't have made it financially without him.....we just couldn't show him the love.
Once he started drinking heavily I began cutting.
There was a time that I couldnt go a day without cutting at least once and I did some so deep if they had been on my wrist instead of the top of my arm I would not be here today. My mother used to always say he's just doing it for attention... but anyone who's truly gone thru that knows that's the exact oposite of what we want.
We desperately try to hide it--becoming all consumed in the secret that it becomes our whole lives. Cutting and hiding them, making excuses like my cat did it or whatever we can say to keep the questions at bay.
I asked my mother to get me psychological help as a teen and she searched for a day then gave up. Now as I'm almost 22 years old and have no insurance I dont know how to go about getting treatment. So im stuck like I'm sure many others out there are. There is more to my story but its too long to type here -lol.
But i know my parents were products of their environment....so I can't blame them completely for how I am today. A lot of it is just my genetics, depression runs on both sides of my family so I basically got the shaft there. And I know I havn't had it NEARLY as hard as others.
But I still just can't really cope with my past and move on. I feel so totally weak cause others can go thru a thing a million times worse and just deal with it just fine...but not me. I mean I dont know what the hells wrong with me. But thats why I'm here I guess, like all of u. I mean theres nothing wrong with us, we're just in pain and need someone to help us thru so thats what I'm hoping this site can do for me. Help me to understand...
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Brandon, your poem and what you say are beautiful and I hope you appreciate what depth and intelligence and sensitivity you have. Try the Stress Release Process, some say they do it over and over and it helps alot. Know that you can grow past the past and create a future for yourself. That's your job. Maybe you'll grow into someone who helps kids who suffer like you did. We need you, Brandon~! Laura
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Depression Poems - Eclipse
by Tanya Wilson
(Ontario Canada)
Eclipse
You’re back again,
How dare you be?
You crept back in
Inside of me.
I started a war
I fought you back
I kept you away
But power I lacked
Someway, somehow,
You lurked nearby
While I laughed and lived
With backbone and pride
You invaded my dreams
And slowly took back
My life that I thought
was back on track.
And now you're back
I’ve no where to hide
Once again you are by my side
You worsen my days
You take away my drive
You always make me
Want to die
The locks are on
The shades are drawn
I've given my worth
That I had built strong
I can’t believe that you came back
Not when I had thought that I had won
Not after all that I had done
You quietly crept back
From far within
Out from the box
I put you in.
You have back your prisoner
Your puppet on a string
To torture with nightmares, panic and fears
To break down and torment for another year
This journey we’re on is like none of the past
Because I know I won’t let this one last
Whether you win or I
Is yet to be seen
One thing is for sure,
This fight won’t be clean
There is one fight within me
That is all there will be
Either I shall beat you,
Or you will beat me….
By: Tanya
(Depression survivor? We will see)
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Depression Poems: What If
by Laura Frisbie
(Asheville)
Life happens and you are a kid, you are like a deer in the headlights. Frozen, numb, shocked, freaked. Your heart pounds, physically –mentally-emotionally, it is all too much. There is a disconnect, a shut-down.
You don’t even get it, what a big deal it really is, what just happened to you. It just goes by, it happens and is over, whether it was one incident or on-going, you are whammed and wide-eyed inside. It’s all inside. And on the outside, life goes on. Like nothing happened, just like nothing happened.
Then you are grown-up, or you are in-between, not a kid, not a grown-up, and you can’t get things to work out. Life doesn’t add up for you, it is in funny bits and pieces and there is always some kind of a mess. In here or out there, there is always some kind of mess.
And by the time you are forty, when there is so much of your life already written in stone, etched in regrets and loss and uncertainty, patterns emerge. It is hopeless for me-there is no closeness, there is no truth or refuge or light to grow by.
What if. What if, when you were the wide-eyed freaked kid, the one with the big frozen stuck place inside, what if you had an imaginary friend. What if your sweet Aunt Jemima Momma held you so close. What if she held you and shushed you and brushed the hair off your face and rubbed your back just a little, right behind your heart on your back, little circles of rubs and warmth and shhhh, shhhh, shhhhh.
What if she didn’t say a word and she holds you and every heart beat is a little pulse of warm love. She’s a mountain of love warmth for your inner mountain of fear.
She warms and holds you and she knows. She doesn’t care what you did or about righting wrongs. She cares about that big block of screaming fear pain ice that’s inside you – and she melts it.
You feel her melting it and you feel it melting deep inside and when you are ready you talk. You talk and tell the pictures in your brain-eyes and say the feelings in your heart-hurt and stomp out the mean-mad in your hands and legs and she holds you.
She takes it all and she soaks it up and the more you let it out, the more love there is. There is a huge warm chocolate river of love connecting you together and you are safe and warm and no matter the horrors out there or inside, cuz she melts you soft again. Warm again. Safe again.
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