Working through Cobwebs

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Melbourne Street Art – Artist Unknown
Photographer: Jennifer Cox
Photo used with permission

“I’m trying to work through cobwebs”, he said,

with eyes pouring like rain
into a leaky boat
squaring off the shoreline,
heading out to sea
avoiding Redbacks
like the plague. negotiating
rogue waves
behind his back,
facing his fear; ex –
tended arms pull
away – escape
for the moment.

he scans the horizon
left to right that sinking
feeling farther, closer
than he expected de –
Nile; a river in Egypt
too far away to row
a thunder clap into eternity,
Isis turning a blind eye;
Trite – on dragging him
under, spinning
a vortex only Terra –
firma can translate.

taking the bull
by the horns, he finds
solid ground wrestling
Taurus, knee deep
in mud that sticks
like shit on the inside;
cobwebs cling to hard –
wired neurons
lodged in the gaps
in – between grey,
a matter for
black and white.

separate, facts find
fiction fornicating
in a web of deceit
by design, too lurid
for children like
Persephone – abducted
innocence; a metaphor
for rape, choking the Hell
out of life. all the while,
pseudo affection bribes
a hand – full of lollies,
to sweeten the blow.

“I want everything to be saved”,
he said.

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
It’s very sad watching loved ones hurting.

I’m Glad You Are Still Here

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Thoughts of suicidal ideation can creep in to our minds at any time, unexpectedly or repeatedly.  For those of us who have listened and let those thoughts amplify, know that “this too shall pass”, and seek help personally and professionally before it’s too late.

My rule of thumb is to seek help before these thoughts start to lead you astray. It’s never a wise decision to make any decision in business, love or life when we are feeling emotional, distressed, angry or hopeless.

Here is my list of things to think about, to distract you long enough to figure out how you can move forward and heal whatever is hurting you and seek help. Don’t let suicidal ideation become another suicide statistic.

●Talk to a friend,
●ring an anonymous help line,
●talk to your preferred doctor
●join a community group,
●go to church,
●write a poem,
●write a story,
●write a blog,
●write affirmations to yourself
●see a therapist,
●draw a picture,
●paint,
●go for a walk,
●make a garden,
●join a community garden,
●cry,
●sob,
●move your furniture around,
●bake a cake,
●play the drums or guitar,
●write a song,
●listen to music
●ring a friend you haven’t spoken to for ages
●visit a friend or relative

The list is endless really. Feel free to add what helps you move through difficult times in the comments below and I will add them here.

The important thing to remember is that you are not alone, even when your thoughts are trying to convince you otherwise. You are loved, liked, wanted and needed.

I’m glad you are still here. I’m sad for those we know and love who are not here with us today. I’m sad for their friends, families and professionals who will remember them always, still loving them.

I prefer to ‘write to heal’ as do many of my friends who struggle with mental health at times. You don’t have to be a ‘writer’ or an ‘artist’, the important thing is to express what it is you are feeling and heal, bit by bit, piece by piece and live.

Love,

Jodine Derena Butler
Editor
Head Lines NZ

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Lilith & the Incubus

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Photographer: Ange Harper
Photo used with permission

Here we go again
for those of you sick
of this shit – Karma

Happiness, eludes me
over-analyzing everything
searching for that choice to make

Looking to purpose choose life
simplicity a complex solution
blind, numb, lost & forgotten

My brain hard-wired my eyes shut
Persistent Depressive Disorder
convincingly sees only what was

Nothing gets any better
I’ve never known anything different
happiness is Far Far Away, folklore

Farther apart I age, no wiser
life flashes before my eyes, wasted
it’s a miracle I have survived thus far

I may as well be dead
it’s like I’m dead
I feel dead

Burdons not just my own; contagion
leaching into every soul I touch,
Incubus fornicate in my sleeplessness

Pervasive nightmares & thoughts
leave little light – my aura
hedonism postulating pleasure

Shit shows on at 4am

Doom & disaster, spiritituality
leper colonies shun; shamed
beyond toxicity

I am cursed
so is everyone in it
locked up for my own safety

Unlike Lilith

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
I wrote this recently because I feel like crap. Another bout of reactive depression has made its presence felt. I am doing everything I can to work it through. It’s hard but achievable, as I have proven to myself over and over. The last time, ten years ago. So, I am writing to heal again. This too shall pass. Jx

PDD

More Dysthymia.

they
are going
to start
calling
it

Persistent Depressive Disorder.

Copyright © 2010 Jodine Derena Butler

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Jodine Derena Butler grew up on various farms all over the North Island of New Zealand.  She now lives in Cairns, Queensland, Australia with her husband.  She has two adult daughters and three grandsons.  Her poems have been published in Side Stream, Blackmail Press, Live Lines Anthology, Tracks Magazine and others. She has a background in social work and mental health and loves to dabble in the Arts.

Happy Faces

So this is what it’s come to
distant memories of innocence
lost long ago
memories relived, mistakes
my undoing, all played
out on life’s stage

you’re out there miles away
untouchable, I tell myself
over and over where I’ve gone wrong
it’s too much for the bravest,
I’m not
I know what they’re thinking

I hear it in my head
like a broken record, jumping
over lines.
I look for ways out,
ahead of my future
there is no parallel universe

in my world
just constant reminders
of what I fail to become
and could have been
if it weren’t for me
I am swimming to stop the sinking

feeling, dragging me
down.  it would only take one gulp
one backward sigh of relief
to make it all go away
I never do anything by halves
I am no saint

no martyr for a greater cause
I leave behind everything
that ever was
they could never understand
what I know is my truth,
my world

I don’t belong here anymore
than the rest of us
but you don’t complain
if I could reach out and touch,
the sky, I would
melt away, floating my drops

I trace tracks with my finger
down the window pane
my happy face
smiling back at me

(in memory of Ian CurtisJoy Division – D.O.D, 18th May 1980.  The birth of New Order.  The 2007  movie release of Ian’s life and times is called Control)

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Jodine Derena Butler grew up on various farms all over the North Island of New Zealand.  She now lives in Cairns, Queensland, Australia with her husband.  She has two adult daughters and three grandsons.  Her poems have been published in Side Stream, Blackmail Press, Live Lines Anthology, Tracks Magazine and others. She has a background in social work and mental health and loves to dabble in the Arts.

Dysthymia

D         don’t mind the melancholic meanderings
of my psyche,  festooned with fervent ranting’s;
water-coloured lines distilled over time.
Y         you see what you want to see.  I
have no control of yours.  my only comfort is
the willingness to breathe life into otherwise
contrived lives.
S          see (ing) through opaque, leaded glass
cathedrals of coloured splendor, give
rise to the muse in me.  the sun in words
rises in the east with the future
and time.
T          the yew – an ancient tree.  synonymous
with dead wood and revered branches
of old. wisdom once gained, long lost
on mass hysteria.  I digress.
H         hunger pains
perverted by the cruelness of lust
rage and longing;  layering
serves to cushion psychic blows.
Y         yearning only serves to belittle
normality; a figment of the imagination.
feeling isolated from the masses is probably
a blessing in disguise.
M         madness,  invites
a semblance of restored faith to jaded
emotional jigsaw puzzles.  sequestered
identities, like my idiosyncrasies.  mundane
existence is tangible evidence that
conflict earns respect and honour
akin to martyrdom.  subjugation.
I           intelligence? Is nothing more than that of
the Descartes and Hippocrates of yester-world,  doomed.
archangel’s like Michael are
condemned by their own father;  there are no
mother’s in sight.
A         a deliberate oversight in my book.
It doesn’t matter at the end of the day;
mental illness is like God,  everywhere,
but it’s only called dysthymia on a bad day.

Copyright  © 2009, Jodine Derena Butler.

Poem inspired by Like Minds Like Mine, ReTHiNK the Meaning of Madness, and the Respond-Response Community Art Project, ‘What’s On You’re Plate’.

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Jodine Derena Butler grew up on various farms all over the North Island of New Zealand.  She now lives in Cairns, Queensland, Australia with her husband.  She has two adult daughters and three grandsons.  Her poems have been published in Side Stream, Blackmail Press, Live Lines Anthology, Tracks Magazine and others. She has a background in social work and mental health and loves to dabble in the Arts.