Poems About Mental Health Novels & Stories

A version who is tired of being pressed into a mold that does not even fit. Honestly, I kind of like her. "I have more important things to deal with," I finish. "Like my mental health. Thinking about pointless things affects my mental health, because then all I think about who people can live without using their brains." I turn on my heel and walk out of the hall. If I had long hair, I would flip it over my shoulder. In my mind, I still do. Take that, old hamster. But I freeze when I reach the doorway.

said nothing but smiled. "Are you worried about anything? " she asked. "I am always worried right? " I replied. "That's why I have anxiety disorder." I added. She smiled again saying nothing. Meanwhile, I was worried about the cabal and the latest demolition notices in circulation but there was no way I would tell her about that. It was a secret Shadrach James, My mother and I shared. Dr. Amrah said I shouldn't keep anything from her but I wasn't telling her about this. "Fetty you know problems are inevitable right? " she began. "You pointed that fact in the poem you wrote." she said. "You see, being worried is not a big deal. We all get worried. I have lots of worries too." she continued w

She finished the song, but was still asleep. Romero and everyone had been woken up from the singing and came downstairs. By the time they got dressed and downstairs she was singing and playing a different song “Finding refuge in my own lies…How are you? i’m doing alright…small talk is a great disguise…just let me be…just let me be…empty thoughts start to crowd my mind..am I only living, living to survive?..shake it off, but I’ve lost the drive…just let me be…just let me be…let me be okay…No one knows what goes on up inside my head…there’s a new kind of poison and it’s starting to spread…no one knows what goes on up inside my head…they don’t think I need help..but I’m scaring myself…I just wa

The heart screams The rejection of peace To me From me Each new day But then till I live Will I be dust Each new way No success new Reaches me Despite Huge attempts My sweat does make My heart does make I am paralysed Or am I dead I don't even know A moment When I enjoyed life Without a breakage As threat If this is life What is death What is end What is dullness When this is light Of my life I am frail now I know I am weak I know the cause Of my every disease Is mental unease But I still won't complain I still won't complain Till fire extinguish My dreams To dirt, it will be All expectations from me With encouragement Only as a dream How long will I live How long will I blame One day At res

“They’re about private wounds.” Franc nodded, understanding etched into his features. “But shared healing.” They curated a small chapbook: “Places Silence Shaped Us.” Thirty pages. Each with a poem, a sketch, a truth. They didn’t distribute widely. Just copies in the studio, tucked among supplies and leaning against chipped mugs filled with dried brushes. One guest read the poem about Yam’s panic attack, fingers trembling slightly as they left a note: “Your chaos matched mine. I don’t feel like a puzzle piece anymore.”

He looked like he wanted to arrest the guy simply for existing. I tried to focus, shutting out the loud pop music blasting through the deck speakers and the constant sound of splashing water so I could catch the thoughts drifting around us. Unfortunately, all I found was noise. [God, look at the guy in the black shirt by the bar.] [Is he a model? Those arms are unreal.] [Please tell me that's his sister and not his girlfriend.] [I still have a chance.] I swallowed. I didn't need to be a professional mind reader to know those thoughts belonged to the group of women sitting at the table to our left.

I break myself, With words, thoughts, From my own mind. Everything I ran away from, I became. Everything I tried not to be, Everything I walked away from, I see them now. Taunting me, laughing at me, For my darkness was my fault, No other's. So, when I love, it's living death. I walk alone in this path, I made darkness my creed, Formed depression, With hands of flawless poetry. I created my demons, Now I'm haunted by them. Everything I am,

to make that final spiritual journey where the Goddess would alleviate this crushing heartbreak and grant me peace. Depression is a poison of the heart and mind. It spreads like rust and tarnishes the soul, corroding its way through to the core until you begin to diminish, fall into ruin, beyond salvation, into this pit of despair that you can't crawl out from. The voices grow louder here; they are repetitive, grinding you down until all that's left is to accept your fate. They're right. What am I? I am nothing. I have nothing left. I am worthless. I am better off dead.

My world is going round and round and each second I feel dizzier than the last. "Alex, I'm here to tell you that your actions are not of your choosing. Mental illness is something often disregarded but it affects more people than any other disorder. We're all here to tell you that we're going to fight, and we're not going to stop until you are not as affected by it so much anymore. We're not going to stop until you're ok." At this point, her voice just sounds muffled. She's trying to sugarcoat telling me I'm crazy. So,

I hugged myself tightly as a flood of memories rushed back to me, an unending river of emotion that could not be quelled. “I can’t even dream of eating a healthy meal, most of the time I have to scavenge for something to eat from the dumpster. My bed is the cold hard floor; I am constantly exposed to mental, physical and spiritual abuse. It's like my whole life is filled with darkness - an endless cycle of pain that I cannot escape from. Even when trying to find reprieve in sleep at night, it's like a storm brewing inside me that won't rest until-”