Writing As A Form Of Therapy

[GonePirate]

thanks bro this one started with the line "I crave the gold that the world once shone with" and just ran from there

[Silenus]

As one who occasionally sees a little too much gold and realises he is Icarus flown too high and the wax wings are starting to melt from the sun's golden light, I get where you're coming from... 🙂

[Krisleigh]

Hi, I'm a published author and poet and student doing a bachelor of creative writing. I love writing and enjoyed your post. I write to release pent up anxieties but mostly just for the love of it. I do have problems with motivation and this can be vexing as I want to write everyday. Study keeps my brain active and I'm loving what I'm learning. Have you thought of doing a course or writing a book about your journey? Kind regards

[Silenus]

Hi @Krisleigh. Lovely to make your acquaintance. 🙂

Writing for the love of it - definitely! It's also great for getting rid of those pent up emotions and doubts and worries. I find there is really nothing like it...

Congratulations on being a published author and poet. That's a big step, getting your words onto actual bits of paper (or the electronic equivalent thereof).

I self-published a book of poetry and a book of philosophical writings last year, and am currently working on my third book which is a novella written in a form of constrained writing called Pilish. There's a fantasy novel I'm 70-odd pages into writing, and an epic fantasy poem about 15 pages long that I need to get back to as well. I haven't touched those in a few years, but they're bubbling away nicely in my subconscious scribble pad.

I have about 250 pages of writing I've done on the subject of mental health from my perspective, mostly discussions or writings on mental health forums. I am quite keen to turn that into a book soon. I've started organising it into sections, working out the structure of it, and what I really want to say as part of sharing "my story"...

There's never enough time in the day... so much writing to do...

@Krisleigh - that's great you are studying creative writing. You must be learning lots. I considered doing a course years ago, but I was always afraid of being influenced by the teachings and "losing my voice" as it were. I figured that Jimi Hendrix taught himself to play guitar and Freddie Mercury taught himself to sing, so I would teach myself to write... hahaha...

Motivation can be a problem as a writer. Sometimes, we wait for inspiration, and it can be a long time coming. I've had writer's block a few times over the years, and even lost the urge to write for about 5 or 6 years once.

The turning point for me was to treat my own creative writing with the same dedication and work ethic as I did my regular job. For the past 3 or 4 years, I have written something (anything) pretty well every single day. It takes a while to get that discipline going, but I can highly recommend that you try it. Even if what you write is not particularly good on any given day, at least you are still practicing your craft. At least, that's how I see it.

Wishing you all the best @Krisleigh. Don't be a stranger! 🙂

And if you feel like sharing some of your writing, we'd love to read it. Hugs and happy vibes beaming your way...

[Silenus]

When I think about the Universe, the cosmos, I wonder at the immensity of it all.

Based on Hubble deep field images, it is estimated that there are 100 billion galaxies in our universe. With an average of 100 billion stars per galaxy, that's what is scientifically known as a heck of a lot of stars...

That's 10 sextillion stars. 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 stars...

My troubles really aren't that big, in the grand scheme of things... hahaha...

This poem celebrates the wonderful fact that we are all made of the stuff of a star...

The Stuff of a Star

The Universe came to be,
How is irrelevant to me;
There seems to be a bunch of laws,
Like time with its effect following cause,
Defining how everything interacts,
A Universe of solid facts.

By following this universal paradigm
We are furnished with reason and rhyme,
And for those who need a little bit more
Realise this – we were all born in a star’s core;
Surely this is a thing of true wonder
As great as any god tearing worlds asunder.

All of the atoms making up all that exists,
Were squeezed together with myriad suns’ fiery fists,
When fist is opened and the solar wind blows
This stuff of creation coalesces and grows,
Forming new stars and circling worlds,
Far from where this stuff was originally hurled.

The spark of life can then find its way,
With order from chaos holding sway,
Stardust combining to make something new,
Even something as amazing as me and you;
Who would have thought that the stuff of a star
Could experience so much and come so far?

[Silenus]

After I was diagnosed, I spent a long while obsessing about my mental health, my mental illness(es). That was great for learning what I was faced with. These labels were an important part of the process.

Then I got to thinking in terms of "Mental Wealth". It's about valuing yourself. It's about realising that you are a unique and amazing individual who has something to offer that not one other on this planet of 7.3 billion human beings can offer...

Ode to Mental Wealth

I have spent nearly every coin in my purse,
I have considered leaving this street in a hearse,
I have looked into the bottomless pit,
I have finally come to accept this shit.

My mental health is not quite right,
My will is strong, but it’s hard to fight,
My hope is that direct and by stealth,
My true value lies in my Mental Wealth.

[Silenus]

The Japanese poem known as the Haiku is a lot of fun to write. They are short, consisting of 3 lines of 5 syllables, 7 syllables and then 5 syllables, and they usually have a twist to them.

Just for a bit of fun, I decided to write 3 haikus... well, kinda...

51 + a Few More

Writing a haiku
It helps to be a bit smart
With a hai IQ

Writing a haiku
Dyslexics need not apply
Fore thiss majik spel

Writing a haiku
If you cannot really count
Is going to be somewhat problematic when it comes to working out how many syllables per line

[Silenus]

This is another difficult poem to share. It yet again deals with the very painful relationship I had with my mother.

It saddens me beyond the power of the human heart to feel that 49 days after writing this poem, my mother passed away. It fills my heart with grief that I did not make it to the hospital in time to speak with her. It continues to break my heart, knowing that I had not grown enough to find true forgiveness in my heart, and to share it with her before it was too late...

Archaeology of the Heart

At the end of the day, forgiveness or not,
My mother has been emotionally dead to me for 30 years.
This is not out of spite or revenge or anything so base.
It’s just that that particular part of my heart
Was petrified, was turned to stone,
And I believe I am better off that way.

Perhaps it will come to pass that one day,
Many millennia from now, an archaeologist unknown
Will dig up my remains and find that stony part,
Brush the dirt from it, study it with a fine microscope to trace
The contours and breaks that exist as souvenirs,
Forever etched and by pain begot.

[Silenus]

Yup... still makes my cry, this poem. It was written the day after my mother passed away from pulmonary fibrosis - scarred lungs after a lifetime of smoking a pack a day. She had already lost consciousness by the time I got to the hospital. Dad and I held a hand each, for the many hours it took for her to pass beyond the pain of this cruel world...

Ow... this poem... just ow...

The Eternity Between Breaths

I am the eternity between each of her breaths,
I hold mine in solidarity with her and feel faint.

I am the tiny fast flutter of her heart twitching at her throat,
My heightened emotions are not equal to matching her in their pace.

I am here with her, but doubt very much she knows it,
Her body failing as she fights this last great lonely battle.

I wanted to get a pillow, and with gentle pressure
Bring the prolonged irregular gasping to a close,
Ending her agony,
Ending ours.

But instead I sat there holding her hand,
Counting down the hours
In series of 3 gasps and 15 second pauses,
Occasionally glancing at the green and red lines and numbers
Measuring the waning of her life.

The Laudanum did its job, and her disturbed agitation calmed,
Although the desperate struggle to draw the next breath continued for hours
(Some would say a lifetime).

There is no higher power in my private Universe,
No comforting bedtime stories or platitudes;
The only things that remain are memories, love and regret
In approximate equal measure.

I will ride out my grief cycle,
A garishly smiling clown balancing on one wheel,
Juggling and honking his horn.

I wish I...
I should have...
Why didn’t I...

Where was I when she needed me?
I contemplate this question in the eternity between my own breaths.

[eth]

@Silenus 51+ gave me a little giggle 🙂 I love haiku.   Love your work on all these poems.