My bedtime story for mentally ill
In my darkest hours.
Cut and sliced by the razor of anxiety.
Strangled by gigantic hands od depression.
Lost in the maze of illness. Naked in the dark.
Where do I find some light?
In my loneliest hours.
Punished by people’s lack of understanding.
Offended by people’s fear of mentally ill.
Suffocating in the crowd.
Where do I find fresh air to breathe?
In my hours of disappointment.
Humiliated by the cruelty of the system.
Deserted by actors who I called friends.
Drinking from the poisoned well of a corrupted society.
Where is the antidote?
In my hours of uncertainty.
Frightened by the news.
Watching others fall.
Searching for a steady ground.
Where can a man find peace?
All the light inside me diminished. But there is a resilient spark. I can feel it. It cannot die. The spark tells me,”You are not your Illness. You are safe from harm. You don’t need light because you are the light.”
The vehement wind that once blew inside me now is so weak it cannot put out a candle. But there is a breeze still. It cannot die. It tells me, “Don’t expect understanding, Understand instead. You are the fresh air the society needs.”
The crystal waters that once flowed inside me now are just muddy puddles. But there is a small water well that will never become dry. It tells me, “Forgive, for that is the key to your freedom. You are the fresh water others need.”
The soil once fertile now turned to dust. But there is a small patch of earth so tiny it grows only one wild rose. The rose tells me, “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for it will take care of itself. You are at peace today.”
