The Schizoaffective Writer

A poem about schizoaffective disorder and what it’s like

a sucking vortex of clips

looped and spinning

gushing across the cerebral terrain

halt

the lights have dimmed, it is bleak here

all around me are the voices of people

some I recognize, others I promise never to face

“you’re better off dead.”

“you’re nothing, a f*****g loser.”

“You’re better off dead.”

suddenly, from within my body grows an immense rush

it circulates throughout every vein

reinforced with the confidence of the Gods

“I cannot be slaughtered, fools!”

or so I maintain

dwindling bank accounts

hypersexual, deviant, s**t, pig

“now lay awake in bed with your shame. You’re filth.”

I’m disappearing into the earth

deep, with the rocks and worms (who will rapidly feed on my carcass)

I’m fatigued, as I think

“Just let me not exist.”

pause

a sucking vortex of clips…

Reviews

[mattavelli]

Hello, John! :)
This was an interesting read. What sort of clips do you mean here?

[John Putignano]

Images in your mind. They could be clips of something that happened when you were a kid, something traumatic, or even a false memory.

[John the Baptist]

Very effective use of imagery here to present what the schizoaffective diagnosis is like from the inside. We hear the strange schizophrenic voices that seem so real, then experience both the mania and depression of the mood disorder. Schizoaffective Disorder treats its victims with the worst of both worlds.