Cross to Bear

A literary depiction of the mental struggles of someone with ADHD. It's meant to break all barriers, between poem and story, between structured narrative and stream-of-consciousness, etc...

Haven't I gotten it wrong?

My mind is so full of questions - jockeying for answers that only create more questions. If my mind is a bag, it's full of writhing snakes - will I one day run out of room?

*
It has begun - the fight
Within my mind's arena
The writhing, twisting ideas
Bulging at the seams
They crawl down my throat to-
Strangle my heart and throat
In coils of confusion.

A suffocating poison fog
Stabs though my veins.

*
People can't understand - There's a boundary that ideas almost never cross - the ones into the body. But for me, it's nearly impossible to distinguish between the two. Unlike anyone I've ever met, my body is my mind, and my mind my body. Ideas don't spin around in my head, they crawl down my heart, burning down my arms and tormenting me until they're released through my fingertips into permanency. They stagnate in my throat, drain the feeling from my fingers, and keep me isolated from anything, everything. Where does my mind end and my body begin? Can I be crushed out of existence by ideas, or will the physicality of my mind keep me alive to feel the torment of being torn apart by the weight of my own imaginings...

*

Drowning, burning, falling
There are weights on my hands
and feet, dragging me under
Burning liquids tear at my throat,
Air in my chest - unable to -
Where is light? What is dark?
How can I move?

*
I can't anymore. The bag of my mind has ripped, and the ideas own my body now. I can't choose to act, or choose not to act - all the conflicting ideas have glued to me to the ground. My instinct tells me to run, but where? My sense of responsibility holds me just enough to keep me from running - but it is

T

E

A

R

I

N

G

My screams are trapped in my throat, by my own inability to choose -

*
Where can I run?
My feet beg to run,
But my heart is heavy
Leaden in my chest.

*
It's a vicious cycle in my body, in my mind - which is which? Am I body, or am I mind? It doesn't matter, my body-mind has become a BInd blind bind bounded by boxed bondage... My own ideas are drowning me, my own mind is consuming me - or is it consuming itself?

*
Sometimes I wake
At midnight, afraid
That I'm dropping
Into a dark hole
A void -
And reality
Is illusion

And illusion, reality.

*
I lust for freedom. I've forgotten what daylight tastes like...

*
Someone save me.

*
I can't.

*
Move.

*
Wait.

*
Anything.

*
Screams echo off the walls of my prison
Like the lonely howls of the midnight wolf
The wolf who has lost everything
Driven mad by the moonlight.

*
Light.

IT BURNS!
*
I surrender all.

*
My chains are gone,
My heart set free
My mind at peace
Focused on Thee

Where can I run?
You carry me.
Where can I hide?
You are my lee.

My thoughts are yours
My mind your tree
That you can bend
And prune for thee.

*
"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?... No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:35, 37-39

Author's Note

This is one of the most personal things I've ever written. Don't hesitate to tear it to pieces. It's very experimental... do you think the breaks between narrative and poem work well to demonstrate the chaotic nature of the mental state?

Reviews

[Con O'Clast]

There's a lot to like here, it's cool how the narrative seems to cut off the poetry just as it starts to make some progress, that's the impression I got. The erratic flow and content really sync up with the theme, it's very clever in form. I thought the ending was sort of unusual, it's like it hints at a unity between the different aspects of yourself, but its more like a mutual cooperation. Like your thoughts had been neutered rather than, I don't know, reached an apotheosis. It made me think anyway, and that's only a good thing, great job!

[Katie]

Thanks!!! It's actually an oblique commentary on the anti-intellectual nature of American Christianity at the moment as well as a poetic depiction of what it's like to have untreated ADHD. I AM a Christian, but a lot of my intellectual curiosity was smothered until I realized that asking questions didn't negate my faith. (That's going to be another poem, once I get around to writing it.)