All Too …


There doesn’t seem to be a

Difference between skin

And or emotions,it’s becoming

A standard order,coping out

Or catching the flakes,tools

Get rusty if you choose not

To use them,suicide is be-

coming more of an option before

Speaking ones mind,mental

Illness is a silent killer,it’s


It doesn’t make its presence

Known,I’ve tried too many

Times,waking up in a hospital

With tubes down my throat,a

Hand full of pills,crying the

Tears of pain,the difference

Now is that I know how to

Talk back,but it seems that

Most don’t, so suicide becomes

An easy decision,instead of

Crying to be heard, desperation

Becomes the receiver,instead of

Pausing and reloading,you

Become a follower,when you

Should have the need to lead

(Unfortunately we have lost another musician,and in the seem way)

I hope this helps someone to understand,that they are not alone)


6 thoughts on “All Too …

  1. compelling expression of what should be said all too much more often. (as a reminder always near me is a photo of a scene from Wim Wenders movie “Wings of Desire” where the angel in an overcoat (who cannot be seen by the mortals) is placing his hand on the shoulder of the man sitting on the ledge of a building)

  2. Life does get heavy on everyone at times but the black dog of mental illness can cloud every thought you have and add thoughts not your own. Thanks for bring suicide to the forefront, I’ve been there many times and I’m not going back. The key reason I advocate.

  3. The stigma of mental illness is just as dangerous as the illnesses themselves. I can wish for judges, lawyers and schools to get a clue, but talking amongst ourselves is going to have to be the way to keep us all alive. I had to take my boyfriend in to be hospitalized last month. He kept repeating, “Help is for the weak.” I have learned to ask for help often. Sometimes, the people I ask have some shared experience that becomes a support.

    I don’t think everyone has the capacity or heart to understand this struggle, just know there are many out there, pretending to be “normal,” who cry alone as well.

    I’m trying to be positive. I hope this came across that way. I’ve had a hormone and medication change and I can’t tell up from down at the moment.

    The musicians and comedians we have lost have shaken me.

    When I start feeling sad, I dig.
    (newly modified shovel heads to compensate for back pain)
    The mundane things can’t laugh at me or make me feel bad.
    I accomplished a hole, I feel the roots,
    see the worms, grubs and smell the earth.
    Grounded, I go back inside to deal with chaos.

    A reply, that got really long. Keep going, that’s the best we can do. 🙂
    Take care Sheldon.

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