Gospel Letter By Mental Illness

We all can’t be like like;
Tesla or Vincent van Gogh,
Kerouac or Dickens,
Beethoven or Hemingway,

Mental illness and those who suffer,
Sometimes you can tell by looking,
Able to judge a book by its cover,
Other times; it seems like the person,
Has everything figured out,

Such statements,
Couldn’t be further from the truth,

When walls start to speak,
Commanding me to follow orders,
Suicidal not violent,

Strangers following me wearing trench coats,
Stephen King’s IT hiding behind trees,
Scared somebody will kill me on my way to work,.

When my left hand starts to tremor,
Have to find a quiet place,

Not all of us have things figured,
Some of us could be Hollywood actors and actresses,
Great at pretending to be somebody we are not,

In public,
Behind closed doors,
While the camera is off,
Trying to fight the urge,
Reminding myself,

‘I can’t fly’,

Don’t want pity,
Nor sympathy,

Wish I could orchestrate a symphony,
Like Beethoven did time and time again,

Instead, I write Gospel Letters,
Hoping somebody reads them,
An author suffering from Schizophrenia,
Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder,

Those who love me,
Whether a lover, a family member, or a friend,
Use catch phrase after catch phrase,

‘Everything will be alright’,
‘It can’t be that bad’,
‘You look normal to me’,

If you stood in my shoes,
Most likely you would hang yourself within a week,

Terrible decision-making,
Whenever auditory hallucinations win,
My line of thinking goes from ‘my wife and I’,
Becomes ‘where can I disappear and nobody will find me’,

I’m tired,
Not sure how much fight I have left,
Usually I don’t ask ‘why’,
But ‘why’,


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