Mental Decay;

A poem I wrote for class. We were told to write about our flaws, so I wrote about my mental disorders.

The fear of rejection or even humiliation;

It’s overwhelming,

So much so that it manipulates the personality.

It can leave you bedridden,

Just so you don’t have to interact with other humans,

And face the inescapable feeling of inadequacy.

 

There’s a fluttering in your chest; palpitations.

Your sternum is throbbing.

Something is crushing your chest; asphyxiation.

Failure. Incompetent; you’re not smart enough.

You’ll never be good enough.

So go ahead; panic.

 

Things are never going to look up.

Stuck in a state of despair that can’t be shaken.

The motivation to just get through one day begins to wane.

The burning in your chest won’t cease to be.

Constantly garroted by a tension in your throat.

Each day becomes harder than the last.

 

Sleep; the body’s natural process of restoration.

But when stress consumes the mind, sleep isn’t an option.

Lie in bed, tossing and turning.

Thinking, maybe even over thinking; a fatal error.

Self-loathing takes place of sleep.

Caffeine pills lose efficacy.

 

It pulsates and throbs in your head.

Vision begins to blur, eyes can’t focus.

A pain that can naturally inebriate you.

Things as simple as noise and light become your nemeses.

Enough Tylenol to kill your liver.

Daily agony.

 

Pick. Pull. Antiseptic; it burns. Antiseptic, again. Repeat.

Wrap nearly every finger in a bandage.

Lips bleed, sometimes even contuse.

Chemical baths.

Scrub skin raw.

Get the germs off of your skin!

 

An hour to alphabetize books and movies.

Rewriting every single note you took in class,

The goal being to make your notes look nicer, cleaner.

Hours spent obsessing over possible failure;

Adds hours of an infinite, paralyzing fear of everyday living.

Organization is a painfully obtained bliss.

 

To have as little flaws as possible.

To have a body all would pine for.

To have the intelligence to push you into success.

To have a personality that had people begging for a friendship.

Perfection isn’t possible,

But A & C will push me to try despite that.

Reviews

[W. Paul Keoke Maury]

Not everyone is perfect and no one ever will be. Standards are opinions not rules. Dont mind what people think and think of yourself as the greatest that ever lived. Great poem I loved it.