I created these pieces to be included as my portion for my Uni Year 2 final project, which was an Anthology.
The theme for the Anthology was “Anatomy” of the human body. We wanted to connect different body parts to everyone’s different art mediums.
I decided to do the form of “Non-structured poetry”, using the stomach as my organ.
If you desire, you can find and read the entire anthology through my Issuu account, which you can find on the contacts page!
Am I Allowed To Call Myself Depressed?
I don’t understand why this is happening,
I feel like I am such an imposter.
Maybe it was all truly inside my head.
Was I too quick to curse you for making me feel this way?
Maybe, I was only ever using it as an excuse.
For the things I wanted not to do.
I really am lazy, undeserving.
Selfish even.
That was the last thing I ever wanted to be.
Isn’t the point of being medicated, is to one day not need it?
But if I no longer need it, maybe I never truly did.
I don’t understand it enough.
Is it genetic?
Formed through trauma?
Or did I just decide to be depressed one day?
I think that would be my biggest fear.
Maybe if I hold on tight enough, it won’t go away.
What I have experienced wouldn’t have been in vain.
What I am feeling is probably just placebo.
Being told you are no longer clinically depressed.
I have taken it to heart more than I probably should have.
Giving the reins to someone over my own mind.
On a subject they weren’t even supposed to be teaching.
Maybe one day I will be free.
Of this life and the thoughts of the people around me.
But being said, who am I kidding.
I will never be able to let it go.
Trigger Warning For Poem Below; Sexual References & Suicidal Ideation.
Will I Ever Feel Wanted Again?
An inner monologue of believing I am the problem.
I absolutely hate being the problem.
Having little to no desire for intimacy definitely can put a strain onto a relationship. I have considered possibly being asexual from time to time. But that sexuality doesn’t resonate with me at all. I still enjoy being romantic as well as the aspects of foreplay, but recently I haven’t had any true desire for the ‘actual sex’.
A lot of people will say that we need to strengthen our emotional connection or that we need to be more adventurous with our endeavours.
If god is real, I have also queried if this is him smiting me for not waiting until marriage.
At least I won’t have to wait long before finding out.
It honestly feels like I have just broken my body. Even when I want to get into the act, my body literally won’t get the girls ready, so to speak. I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but after a few years of taking my antidepressant medication, my libido decreased. Once I decided to switch off my medication to a new one, I became as eager as a rabbit. But not even a week had passed when I had felt myself revert back to my original state. So is it not the medication and just me? It’s not my fault is it? I don’t believe at all that the medication “broke me” and I would never say that to anyone else either.
The grievances that people already get from being on antidepressants is ridiculous, especially since it’s a mental condition no one has ever asked for. I just would like to explore every possibility and understand the why of it all.
Is it purely my depression creating this block or is that not possible? It helps create blocks for everything else I want to do, so I can’t see why this would be anything different.
Would the new medication fix me?
The medication that I was planning on switching too I haven’t been able to physically get my hands on. It is promptly in scarce supply, so I would have to fight to the death to even try obtaining it. The specific millage is not available anywhere apparently. It’s been a few months since then but now I am too scared to ask again.
I find going to the doctor incredibly draining, regardless of why I am going. Ideally, I should be going at least once per four to six weeks, because of mental health checkups. I have been going maybe twice every three months or so. Sometimes I genuinely forget so it’s not my fault. I do feel guilty though, when they have to reach out with phone calls, texts and even letters. They are doing all they can to help me and I’m probably coming across as very ungrateful. But it is also just their job, I’m sure they’re not personally affected.
I just wish I could know what specifically the reason is without needing to go to the doctors. Having conversations about sex is already uncomfortable enough as it is, especially when you have to tell the same story to different people each time.
Not knowing if this is my depression or if it is just me, or something else entirely really makes me feel discouraged and get down on myself. Part of me would like some help, but the other part wants to push it down and ignore it for as long as possible. It’s been working out for me thus far. Even with the answers, it probably wouldn’t even change anything. It’s the same way I feel about getting diagnosed with other mental challenges. Sure I might have this, that or the other and it would be nice to know but what would it actually change physically? Unless I am able to block it out with more medication.
I am hoping that one day I will be able to truly understand myself in the same way other people seem to ‘know themselves’.
Will I Ever Escape From My Past?
It’s come back.
The feeling of needing to escape again.
This feeling is like the wind.
It comes and goes as it pleases.
It’s a fleeting feeling, only comes when life is “too hard”.
I can’t imagine a time when I never had this need to escape.
It first started when I was a child in my parents' big home.
I longed to leave their constant presence so that I could finally relax again.
But I suppose that’s a normal feeling.
Once I grew up to a certain age, my childlike ignorance was gone.
My peace was destroyed.
But then again, what child doesn’t hate their parents?
Being forced to wear certain clothes so that I don’t draw attention from certain people.
Remembering those looks that I would get anyway.
Never feeling properly safe in my own home.
It’s normal to hide alone in my room isn’t it?
All kids are worried their parents will barge in and start yelling, right?
I kept getting told, “It’s all for your own good”.
He actually does care about you.
Does he?
I stopped inviting my friends over, worried what they might find.
I stayed at their homes for as long as I could.
Usually crying whenever I had to leave.
I had friends that said that they also hate their parents.
So this must be a universal experience.
I felt hope.
So this is normal.
We could be best friends and they would understand.
“Hey, your dad is really cool and funny.”
“Aha, yeah he is”.
Our perceptions are different, even after I confide in you.
It’s hard to tell the difference between what is fiction and reality.
Especially when people act differently behind open and closed doors.
It’s not fair to blame others for what they are allowed to see.
But can no one see me and what I am telling you?
He only does nice things when out in the open.
He only holds your hand when others are around.
He is well respected in the eyes of the church, and always helps out whenever he can.
Maybe it’s not fair to judge someone by their past.
But what about my past?
I was just a child that didn’t know anything.
I believed that this behaviour was normal.
A game of frisbee taught me more than you ever did.
It showed me what a family was supposed to be.
Although I do need to thank you for teaching me.
Who I want to be when I grow up.
Not like you.
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