An Alternate New Year’s Day

I know it’s New Year, and much joy abounds
but I’m full of despair, and it’s really profound
I’m trying to enter into the spirit of things
but I know this week is carrying the sting

Last night, bells rang, and glasses were clinked
I sat here alone, and all I could think
was the fear inside of me is here to stay
It filled me with utter and complete dismay

At Christmas time, I had my family here
and just for a while, it allayed all my fears
The children were great; I was thankful to see
Then, darkness descended, crippling me

I’m trying to hang on to a morsel of hope
when the whole of me is fighting to cope
I feel like my world will collapse forever
as my therapy ends; our relationship severed

I’ve written a letter to say thank you so much
I’m longing for a hug or a gentle touch
I know it’s unlikely; it’s not meant to be
Boundaries are there for Chris* and for me

I’m dreading Wednesday coming this week
I can’t see a future, not even a peek
My body is shaking; my head full of fear
The feeling of grief rises up to appear.


* Chris is my therapist/counsellor (until Wednesday)




NOTE: Forgive me a while if I can’t read your writing
I love you all, but I’m tired of the fighting
.

(Photo by Danil Aksenov on Unsplash)

Dear Unknown Counsellor

Many of you will know that my counselling with Chris is ending on the 4th of January, which I’m terrified about. I would normally be there this afternoon and again next week, but the counselling agency is, understandably, closed for two weeks for the Christmas holidays and New Year. The best way I can cope with the absence of my session today is to write, so I thought I’d write a simple poem for my new, as yet unknown counsellor.


Dear Unknown Counsellor,

I’m devastated and so upset
to be away from Chris
I’ve fallen into the darkness
and straight into the abyss

I’ve no idea when I’ll meet you
Apparently, there’s a queue
Otherwise known as a waiting list
How long? I wish I knew

I do hope that we’ll get on
and in you, I’ll learn to trust
I hope you’ll understand my truths
and not view me with disgust

I write a lot of poetry
and dabble with some ‘art’
It’s just how I express myself
pouring out the whole of my heart

I have a problem with anger
I can’t get it off my chest
I can’t scream into a pillow
although I’ve tried my best

I hope I get to meet you soon
I’m scared out here all alone
I’ve been so lucky to have Chris
and the care that she has shown

*Please take away the ticking
of the therapy room’s clock
It reminds me of the horror room
and the door with the bolted lock

My heart is already broken in two
I have one more week; then, the end
I hope my words are acceptable
and these thoughts that I have penned

Where do I begin with you?
Do I have to start over again?
I think I could talk forever
dispelling this huge weight of pain.

* See previous poem The Passage of Time

(Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash)

A Bitter Pill

I cannot think; I cannot write
I can only see the end in sight
I cannot read the blogs I follow
Keep saying that I will tomorrow

My brain’s in autopilot mode
I just can’t carry this hefty load
My counselling has nearly ended
And yet, my heart still hasn’t mended

I’m losing C., my therapist
She’s going to be so sorely missed
Desperation is setting in
Fear like shark’s teeth on my skin

I’ve just got two days left to attend
I know that I am reaching the end
What will there be left of me?
An empty vessel is all I’ll be

The holidays just two weeks ahead
With jolly Santa, dressed in red
It’s such a struggle again this week
Where do I find the comfort I seek?

My heart beats fast and faster still
As I swallow down this bitter pill
I really don’t know how I’ll cope
I’m trying not to give up hope.



(Photo by Maddi Bazzocco on Unsplash)

FOR GRAHAM J.
A neighbour died two doors away
I only found out yesterday
He was a husband, friend and dad
Mourning him and feeling sad.


RIP Graham J.



Make Believe


She got up early and painted her face
to cover the shame and her falling from grace
She dyed her hair ginger and put blue on her eyes
She thought she’d catch all her friends by surprise

She smacked on red lips and looked into the glass
Outside the window, she watched people pass
Nobody noticed this sad tired stranger
Nor that she was in imminent danger

She pulled on her face and forced out a smile
and held the expression for quite a while
She easily feigned joy; could have earned first prize
for kidding them all with her perfect disguise

Exhausted and weary, she started yawning
and time slipped by, ‘though it was still morning
She pulled down her hat to cover her frown
No one would know her, dressed up as a clown

She’d tried so hard but things were so tough
She decided that enough was enough
What a sham, what a game; she picked up the knife
Could she pluck up the courage to take her own life?

Russian Roulette

There’s nothing clever or even vaguely intelligent about this poem. I wrote it on the spur of the moment. It’s not one of my better pieces, but it expresses how I feel, as does all my poetry. This isn’t a ‘work of art’ by any stretch of the imagination. It’s merely a ditty …

I realise my blog posts
have been sad and sombre of late
I know it’s been hard to bear with me
I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling great

My doctor has given me tablets
Both Valium and Zopiclone
The latter should help me sleep
Plus a crisis number to phone

I’m trying to appear cheerful
but I doubt that I’m kidding you
I’m painting a broad smile on my face
but you can’t see that’s what I do

My poetry is brutally honest
Every word, every space, every line
Perhaps, if I painted landscapes
the results would be more sublime

My dear friends, I want to thank you
for sticking close to my side
And also, I’m eternally grateful
for mopping each tear that I’ve cried

So, I beg for a little more time
And please don’t desert me yet
I’ve really got so much to live for
though I’m playing Russian roulette

A message here to each one of you
from my tender and delicate heart
I’m doing my best, so please hold my hand
I don’t want to blow us all apart.




Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay



The Rope

Trying to be more upbeat
But just so full of grief
Wanting to be hopeful
My joy stolen by the thief

Started off my journal now
Complete with gratitude
Trying to turn a corner
While battling low mood

Firing all my engines
In the hope of rising up
Searching positivity
In a half-empty cup

Try smiling in the mirror
No one grinning back
Seeing all the wretchedness
While watching life unpack

Searching out life’s colours
Standing in the sun
It’s dark before its time
Again the night has come

It’s hard to keep on going
A battle just to cope
Is there really any point
Holding on to the rope?

Photo by Carson Greenhalgh on Unsplash