Some feelings are shallow, some feelings are deep.
Some makes us smile, some make us weep.
Some we love, some we don't.
About Brian P
I started writing inside a mental hospital when I was 18 and I guess I never stopped. Most of my writing has been about mental illness but in recent years I branched out into other topics I'm familiar with. If my poetry had one central message or theme it would be understanding. Once a person can understand another's mindset they tend to stop being critical of that person, and then become more likely to help. If a lack of understanding is the problem then the solution can be as simple as taking the time to understand the next person and their reasoning. A step farther would be to understand their emotions. My hope is to help bring some of that understanding.
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Feelings And Perspective
Some feelings are shallow, some feelings are deep.Featured Shared Story
I, too, have dealt with depression most of my life. I have learned two things. Feelings are just that. They are fleeting. They come and they go. I have also learned to rely on my rock, my...
Poem About A Family Devastated By Drug Addiction
One pill, two pills, three pills, four.
The children are counting Xanax pills they pick off the floor.
Mommy's sister committed suicide in 2009; that's when this all started.Featured Shared Story
Same here. The full poem was actually 4 pages long; a lot of the story was cut out to meet the size limit. The point where the children decided she chose the drugs over them was because of...
There's a place in the hospital where they house the severely mentally ill,
A place where people walk around in a daze and every day starts and ends with a pill.
Where people don't want your money; they only want your prayers.Featured Shared Story
I can totally relate!
Agoraphobia, Anxiety And Panic Attacks
Anxiety rips me out of my sleep, a shock to my system like a bucket of ice water.
I open my eyes to see a demon hovering near the ceiling; fighting it will lead to my slaughter.
These demons cover the Earth like the oxygen we can't see.
Poems by Brian P
I don't really understand consciousness yet, so I may have been wrong. The important thing is what those things had in common with Eckhart Tolle. I bring this up because this poem is about mental illness and whether you have one or know someone who does, I believe his books can help. It showed me the difference between me and my mind. If you're like me, you completely identify with your mind and you may not realize that you are not your mind. It's just another part of the body we use for this world and it can become sick and damaged too. It's just another damaged part of your body like a broken leg, it is not you. Your mind has the illness, you aren't the illness. Once you truly understand that, you won't identify with the illness as much. That can create enough distance between you and the illness to help you see it for what it is. Which is just another sick part of your body and, like in physical therapy, you can isolate and strengthen that body part again.
I've been asked about this poem a lot. While I was once told I had a Dissociative Disorder, this poem's describing how I personally identify with things. I feel like there's two parts of me that are just too different to be the same. I don't see myself as two different people, I only have 1 name, and I look the same every time I look in a mirror. I was describing what my mind identifies with. The trauma affected part of me relates more with the scars, tattoos, and all negative emotion which seems to energize me in that state. Many of my tattoos are reflecting mental health concepts and symbols. I'm a good person. I often try to write in ways I'm speaking up for the people that nobody listens to, trying to help end suffering. The more I read about Eastern culture, Buddhist monks, and spirituality from authors like Eckhart Tolle, I wonder if what I'm actually describing is the difference between mind and consciousness. My mind has been corrupted, but my consciousness cannot be.
We actually had a framed picture of "Footprints in the Sand" in our hallway growing up. You only need to read the words once for the visual of those footprints to be inspiring forever. That's a case where the picture may say more than the words describing it.
Same here. The full poem was actually 4 pages long; a lot of the story was cut out to meet the size limit. The point where the children decided she chose the drugs over them was because of what she did instead of trying to get them back. That was the reason for the conclusion. It wasn't buying or doing drugs, or even drug related.
Around 75% of this story was real. The main difference is the story's mommy was likable and relatable where as the real life one was not. Most adults know these situations are very complex and a person dying in this manner is no proof at all that they loved the drug more than the child. In my opinion, the need for the drug and the love for the child are unrelated. The story, however, is from the child's perspective. I saw these children at least a dozen times and there were two things that stood out: they never spoke and always had an overwhelmed look in their eyes like they were constantly exhausted. Particularly the boy, who was this poem's inspiration.