365 Poems – 139 Pushing a dead horse (Rough First Draft)

Pushing a dead horse

I find myself in a space, preparing light.
I turn it on at the wall and point it towards me.
The explosion hurts for the first few moments.

My jaw and eyelids have a mutual agreement
to close, and remain closed when things get tough.

I’m fine with spiders, snakes and small, enclosed
places. I’m more terrified of my own mind.

It’s so quiet tonight. I can feel blood
at the tips of my thumbs. I can hear it.

I don’t want to be left alone on this melting
ice floe, where I centre my emotional
and psychological neglect, and stagger
all necessary growth.

You, and the three before, with your
tined instructions, misunderstood my mania,
my breath by laboured breath.

You failed to understand the difficulty
of me interrupting my depression,
quickly, without panic to answer
your repetitive questions.

Now, you avoid my house number
and have muddied my melancholy,
which surges like a filthy sea.

Shadows turn to greet me, and absorb
that reflection, pushing a dead horse.

 

I’d like to give a bit of background about this poem. I am currently with a team who are supposed to help me manage my mental health. I am new to this particular service, after having been with numerous different NHS organisations over the past fourteen years.
However, I am currently finding their help to be pretty much non-existent. I rarely hear from them and feel like I’ve been abandoned. You might be thinking ‘but they’re busy, they have loads of people to help, give them a break!’ But what I need to tell you is that people who suffer from manic depression, like myself, (as well as other mental health issues) can believe that if they are not contacted by their mental health worker for a lengthy period of them, then their issues are deemed to be not important or serious enough to require regular communication.
This can lead to feelings of desertion, grief and self-hatred. I’ve it in my head that when I call, I’m being disruptive and needy. I know this is absurd but my thinking is regularly distorted and I find it difficult, especially at the moment, to request more help.

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