Therapy

I have started therapy a few weeks ago in an attempt to help with the crippling anxiety I suffer. It is amazing the depth of things that are surfacing. It is fascinating and challenging at the same time.

It was a good therapy session I thought
Peeling layers of a stubborn onion set in resin
Mining away at solidified feelings
One by reluctant one
Each clinging with skeletal fingers
to emotions echoing in empty halls against
walls painted in red acrylic
As I slit the wrists of memories
Heart exposed, emaciated
And I bleed

I spoke of mother, long dead father
How I am a child
A lost someone, somewhere, somehow
Yellow brick roads
No place like home
But I never get there
I am a chasm in a universe
A star without a sky
A tide without a moon
I swallow sky and devour the ocean
and my soul is still hungry

It’s good to talk
But oh, the guilt!
For I am not permitted to feel the spectrum
Nice girls swallow their anger
And pour the pain into a teapot
Tears are dried upon cupcakes of suppression
And emotions only paint a fictitious smile on
plastic, botox faces
But feelings lurk in wait, within my fickle psyche
Dramatic vultures craving penitence
Feasting on loss and shame and guilt
Having a welcome party
Mad Hatters in my therapist’s room

Sarah Drury

Valium

Valium
My old cathartic friend
Take a seat beside me
Fuck the ‘don’t get addicted’ trend
Wash down the pill
Act out the finale
That never fucking ends
In your dramatic air
Of sensory obliteration

Take my mind far away
To some fond childhood day
When neurosis
Was a word
I hadn’t even heard
When psychotic, insane voices
Were just another
Exhibitionist exotic bird
And now when I
Hear them singing
They snarl in tuneless, grimy
Sinister threats
Like my life
Smiling at strangers
When the face in the mirror
Is full of acrid, bitter regrets
And hatred

So I pop a Valium
And wait for that glorious
Blanket of don’t give a fuck
I think my friends and family
Must have mistakenly mistook
My strangeness
For not taking my meds again
Does anyone really think
I would inflict that
Suicidal pain
I’d rather stick
Hot needles in my
Eyes
I’m not that fucking crazy.
But who gives a shit now
The chill starts to spread
I’m starting to feel lazy
If I could bottle this feeling
I could peddle it
Drug dealer hazy
Street cred
As fuck

I pop a Valium
It steals my thoughts
Those charming, psychotic quirks
Mad hatter moments
That can’t be bottled and bought
And I am Alice
Lost in Wonderland
And there ain’t no tea parties here
Just psychosis in a teacup
And lithium cake with a side helping of fear
As the medics binge
on the cream
Of condescension

But you, my faithful friend
I may be addicted
But fuck it
Lithium chick
The side effects are contradicted
What is better?
Blood on the hands of a psychiatrist
Or sanity in the minds
Of the heavily medicated
And I owe you
My fucking life

©2020 Sarah Drury

Queens of Lunacy

Six twenty a.m.
Meds not kicked in
Yet
Another psychosis
Again?
I hear the birds
Free bitches
Tunes as though
Life has no locks
No dirty ditches
To dump
The head fucked
In

Like us
Queens of lunacy
Boasting our
Lithium crowns
Regal but
On a different
Frequency
Time for pill pop
Want the fucking
Crazy shit to stop
The clock
Ticks
Out of time

Psycho mum
Drag my bones
Bust my butt
Necking my meds
Like a Valium slut
Popping the pills
To get free entry
To a sanity club
Crazy has
A price tag
I can’t afford
Ring a roses
We all stay mad

I’m fucked

©2020 Sarah Drury

OCD Showdown

Have you ever suffered from OCD? People associate OCD with obsessive cleaning but that is not necessarily the case. OCD is characterised by intrusive thoughts which are obsessive. When my OCD is triggered, it is terrifying. I go into panic mode. It takes over my thinking, my actions, my vision and often triggers severe anxiety attacks. I am on medication but the OCD manages to overpower it. I’ve even had cognitive behaviour therapy.

Here’s a poem I wrote today as my OCD has flared again and I wanted to express how it feels.

OCD showdown

Why
Just why?
Senses traitors
Neurosis is
Narrator
Genre horror
Kill myself
tomorrow
Thoughts
Of terror
Grip me
In a mind fuck
Prison
Just envision

Your
Worst nightmare
Strangled by
Brain trauma
Everywhere
Wish I
Didn’t care
Neurons firing
Ghost train
At a dead man’s
Fair

Sensory overload
Salvador Dali
Paints a masterpiece
In my
Surrealist psyche
Rachmaninov
Playing concertos
I do not like

It’s not real
It is real
For me
I live though things
You do not see
Fear
Kicks off
Alternate universe
Body shuts off
Emotions terse
I write this verse
To rationalise

Sight fucked
Ears fucked
Dirty
Can’t touch
Bleach
Taints the air
Too much
Thinking
Too much
Feeling
Too much
Seeing
Too much
I need an
Off switch

©2020 Sarah Drury

Broken Wings

This poem is dedicated to anyone who has ever suffered with a mental illness.

I have two tattered wings
That sit like prayers
Upon my broken back
I thought I was an angel
But angels’ wings are usually white
I don’t know if they come
In shades of black
And I know I lack faith
I try to keep my eyes
To heaven in the sky
But my wings are too heavy
I try to help myself
To lift my soul, to fly
But each cloud is a traitor
Selling my sins for my lies
God tell me why
I am always falling
At the first demon?
Am I faithless?

I have two tattered wings
That sit like heavy burdens
Upon my fragile heart of gold
I’ve been trying
Not to sell my cut price soul
To the devil
Since losing my virginity
At seventeen sordid years old
I waited for Armageddon
But you pay for Heaven
In pieces of silver
Not in counterfeit gold
And my wings
Aren’t worth shit

I have two tattered wings
That sit like curses
Upon a mind of paranoia
And madness
I’ve been conversing
With the saints
If I say a prayer for a sick child
Will they take away this
Summertime sadness
It’s a bit late for me
For my shattered wings
To be made anew
There’re only so many things
These days
I can possibly do
Without going fucking
INSANE

But I’ll keep flying
Broken angel
Navigating those crazy skies
And I’ll keep peddling those
Happiness lies
Swallowing the pills I despise
And I’ll survive
On a wing
And a
prayer

©2020 Sarah Drury