What I will never be...

Discussion in 'Suicidal Thoughts and Feelings' started by Akela, Aug 22, 2014.

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  1. Akela

    Akela Member

    What on this earth still interests me, what could I still want?
    Why does it still frighten me to be so weak and gaunt…?
    What fears could I still hide within or is that not the case…?
    And why am I always last to cross the lines of every race?

    What gift is worth the pain I feel; is such a thing a lie…?
    And why does every person think I shouldn’t want to die…?
    What sorrow in another’s mind do you think you could sort?
    And why is it, still, that suicide, is not your last resort…?

    Where on this earth is one like me, and why do you believe,
    That somehow, magically, we’ll meet, and both be so relieved…?
    More than twenty years I’ve seen through eyes three-hundred old,
    And still the world is full of malice, greed and hate and cold.

    I’m tired at the years I’ve seen, worn at what I am,
    And yet, somehow, quite angry, at my lack of being lamb.
    My eyes were ever open, even as a babe I wept,
    Knowing certainly full-well that none of it is kept.

    So why should I remain where only fools would seek to thrive?
    And why, with all that goes on here, should I remain alive…?
    So long a life within young eyes, and still they think me dumb,
    For what could such a ‘child’ know? Their simple rule of thumb.

    What I lack they all possess; what I posses they lost,
    So what reward could seek to fill the empty hole it cost…?
    Still my mind will wander and seek visions of the snow,
    And until I finally leave the pain will only, ever grow.

    Three years or three hundred, what difference does it make…?
    Nothing changes how each human will can only seek to take.
    They look at me with empty eyes, reflecting empty heads,
    All too willing to close again and wallow in their beds.

    What on this earth still interests me, why should I seek to stay?
    Anything I start to love will only ever go away.
    Broken dreams and promises are all that’s left of me,
    So maybe now it’s time to face what I will never be.
  2. BruceWayneWannabe

    BruceWayneWannabe Active Member

    This was AMAZING! I saw myself in almost every bit of it. Thanks for writing that. You're very talented.
  3. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, I concur with BruceWayneWannabe. This is amazing and I'm sure you're amazing too. I'd like to know what you'd never be because I know there are many great things you could be based on what I read. Well done and thank you for writing.
  4. Akela

    Akela Member

    I will never again be healthy enough to enjoy life. Every day is a struggle to breathe, eat and merely exist. I'm sort of at the end of my rope... But thanks for the support, guys. Poetry is...all I have left in me at this point.
  5. total eclipse

    total eclipse SF Friend Staff Alumni

    Poetry you express so beautifully really our mind with your words you do give so much when you share others who are in the same mind that cannot express how they feel you have done that for them Hugs to you
  6. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, Thank you for responding. Your poetry is excellent too so I hope that you hold onto that. I know things probably don't seem great at the moment but I know this: they will get better and you will feel better. When we are low we struggle to breathe, eat and question our existence. However, these feelings are fleeting and things will improve. People on here were inspired by your poetry and it made them feel better about themselves. You obviously enjoy poetry and people like reading your poetry because it makes them feel better. I'm sure this is one of many reasons to exist. I hope you're feeling better.
  7. Akela

    Akela Member

    It's not a psychological disorder; my health is literally wasting away. My stomach can't handle but the most basic food substances (most of which offer not even a sliver of pleasure to ingest and most assuredly lead to pains later) and my lungs are so broken that I spend more time inside than out. I have NO independence, none. If not for generous family I'd be a ward of the state because I literally cannot care for myself; and all they can do is frown and say how sorry they are. Yeah. That really helps.

    My desperation doesn't come from depression or anxiety, it comes from my inability to live any sort of normal life. There is no cure for anything I have, only treatments which, by the month, work less and less.

    I may have something to offer folks, but why should I live in absolute agony just because I MIGHT inspire someone else...? I'm tired of being a broken thing, I'm tired of running away to the fantasies of games and books. I can't do it anymore. It's just...not worth it.

    Is it so odd that someone would rather die than live in constant pain...? Where's MY angel of mercy...?
  8. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, Thank you for sharing. You mentioned you have a generous family who obviously care about you. Your life must mean a lot to them much like what your poetry means to a lot of people. It sounds like you're in immense pain and that must be difficult. I don't think it's at all strange that someone would feel they would rather end their pain than live through it.

    Call me one of those selfish people who you very much inspired but I hope though that you don't. I hope you hold on and are optimistic that maybe you will get better via treatment or through medical services. I hope that you hold and aspire to live the normal life you crave for. Whether it be walking to the shops unattended or parachuting out of an airplane; I hope that you will be what you aspire to be.

    I've known people who doctors have told they have days to live lying in a bed. Then days have become weeks and weeks have become years and years have become decades. In this time, the people have lived out their dreams more than many can even realise.

    I hope that you are just hopeful because again, this self centred and self indulged person, wants you, another important person to stay.
  9. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, I hope you're feeling better. Take care. Husky.
  10. Akela

    Akela Member

    I feel as though the family I do have suffers through what I place upon them instead of truly having a choice. I've been fairly sickly my whole life, so, they never really had a choice in the matter. They owe me, anyway, for everything they put me through when I was young. Alcoholism. Verbal/mental abuse and anguish, that, to this day, still sometimes goes on. I've wanted so badly to be a "good person" because it was what my mother always told me to be; but when you suddenly realize your parents don't make the same efforts they're placing upon you...all the hypocrisy is...crushing.

    It seems like more people would rather ignore everything and tend their own, and I'm the first to admit I was like that, not a handful of years ago. But y'know...if Karma does exist, obviously I've accrued so much of the negative that I've no chance at ever...I don't know, getting better? I have days where the ailments bother me less but...they're still there, in the back of my mind; just like the thoughts of suicide.

    I guess I'm tired of the hypocrisy more than anything...everything I was told as a child was essentially a lie and I was held up to s standard where everything I did was never good enough.

    So I can never be good enough...yet they try to tell me my art is great, but then yet again they gripe at me at how I should be focusing on other projects. My mom wants me to write what she wants me to write, never once stopping to think, maybe, that I don't enjoy what she likes...

    I don't know. I guess it all comes down to me "not being good enough." Nothing EVER being good enough. And no one...really caring. I understand people have their own concerns but...I don't know. Everyone just seems to think it's such a "waste" to commit suicide, but...what if you honestly think you'd be happier dead than alive...?

    I keep at it a single day at a time but...I don't know. I can't work. I can barely leave my house...so...what? I write poetry and post it on forums HOPING people will get it...? I realize that's why I'm here, I just...I don't know...it's just hard to keep finding a reason to stay when everything around you is so...bleak.

    I appreciate the support though...I just wish I could have an easier time taking it to heart.
  11. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, I know people may treat you like you're not good enough but you are good enough. Someone very close to me is reliant on family support and we don't see this person as a burden at all. He is a talented writer and his kind personality lifts our morale. When I read your poetry, you did the same for me. I guess only good people have the ability to uplift people like that and I know that's what you are. As for what happened to you when you were younger, try and focus on what will happen when you're older. I mean what you want from the future. I know this is so much easier said than done but it's something which can be done.

    You're good enough to live in this world. Sometimes the world may not be good enough for you but you are good enough for it. I hope you see that. Husky
  12. Akela

    Akela Member

    I'm not sure I want to have a future... Any dreams I had...I just don't care anymore...

    It's hard for me to put into words, but I have an old poem that sorta' sums it up:

    'Is an artist still an artist,
    If they’ve lost all that they love?
    If their passions have all faded,
    With no faith in what’s above?

    What happens when the mysteries,
    Lose all of their allure,
    And their muse is sorely sickened,
    With no definite hope of cure?

    What happens then, what are they called?
    Are they beasts or shades or men?
    Wandering without purpose,
    Through the where and who and when.

    Soulless, empty golems,
    All searching for a cause,
    Hoping for a remedy,
    To cure them of their flaws.

    But how do you fix a broken thing,
    That’s lost all thirst for life?
    And what do you give to comfort them,
    An embrace or a knife?

    Do Bohemians cease to be,
    If they no longer yearn to dream?
    And if this is so,
    Then what exactly does that mean?

    If we’ve lost all our desires,
    Can they somehow be reclaimed?
    And how do you stir a soul that wants not,
    Fortune, wealth or fame?

    I keep on asking questions,
    But I no longer know why,
    The wounds just seem to deepen,
    The harder that I try.

    But what else can I do?
    There’s no place I can go,
    And I guess as long as I live,
    Then no one will ever truly know…'
  13. snogo

    snogo Well-Known Member

    You write beatiful poetry, Akela. Poetry was one of my literature exam sections and it was also my weakest area. Yet, I can easily relate to the wonderful prose expressed by poetry such as yours.

    Just a suggestion, have you tried doing an audio recording of some of your poetry collection? I mean, as in giving a voice to them, so to speak. Read out with different tones and feelings and observe the emotions going through you. Just observe and 'watch' them go by. Any feeling that stays or comes on as strong, just let them be. If they seem like going away, just let them. They are real, but yet also like cute little bubbles. Part of you, but not the real you.

    It's ok not to care about dreams and desires right now. Continue to share whatever poetry that comes up in your mind with us. You know we are your faithful recital audience now. :wave:
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 16, 2014
  14. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, You've written yet another excellent poem. I know poetry can be a personal thing but have you ever thought about trying to get your poetry published? Maybe even becoming involved in a poetry group where you can impart your beautiful words upon others.

    As for the future, I hope that you do see that there is a tomorrow. As for your dreams, I hope that you do see that they can be lived. I think nothing reinforces this more than the poetry you wrote. You invariably like poetry and wanted to write good poetry at one point. It seems that this is a dream which has been lived and who is to say, there can't be another.

    As snogo remarked, the poetry which has been written is beautiful and I believe it could only have been written by a beautiful person. I hope that you continue to share your poetry with us too.

  15. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, I hope that you're feeling better and that you're still writing your beautiful poetry. Take care. Husky.
  16. Akela

    Akela Member

    Audio stuff just makes me feel silly. I don't think my voice is anything special so it's not like it would add to the effect; if anything it's slightly high-pitched, loud and annoying. I enjoy writing and I enjoy reading what is written, I guess I just never got into the whole audio thing...

    If I remember correctly a few of my poems are published, not that that makes any difference to me. I don't know...on one hand I want to share my poetry with people but at the same time I don't want to share it with everyone...if that makes any sense. My poetry is very personal and I have this irrational fear of people around me finding out too much about me because of it; so no one really gets to see the pieces I enjoy the most; and if they do the reaction is always so unenthused that at times I wonder, "If no one cares...why even write it...?" But I can't exactly stop, it's my thought process on paper, it helps me sort out how I feel and if it's okay for me to feel that way. It's also a time-line and helps me determine just how terrible or non-terrible things have been. I've gone full circle and am back, emotion-wise, where I was some ten years ago. If THAT'S what I have to look forward to over the next ten years...screw it. It's not worth it.

    The last three or four things I wrote I'm too protective over to share, but I can snag something else I shared somewhere online at one point, a couple of them relate directly to everything I've talked about in this thread.

    The second one is kinda' a riddle, though it wasn't intended to be that way at the start. But if one thinks about it, it's pretty obvious, and the answer makes too much sense to deny. Maybe it was intended...I don't know anymore.

    In the end what exactly is it all worth?
    And can it be measured by the threads of a purse?
    Is it something we touch? A sensation we feel?
    Or does it all come down to the fact it’s not real…?

    I feel I have paid a price still untold,
    Exacted in blood, sweat and tears; and in gold.
    But if value is something we cannot define,
    What does it matter if it’s his, yours or mine…?

    They say that it matters, but how can they know…?
    And how is it the blind could tell us where to go…?
    If we cannot see what they say is there,
    How do we know it exists anywhere…?

    So what exactly is it all worth?
    And what difference in scale is the death to its’ birth?
    Is it really so strange for those raised on lies,
    To finally pluck up the will to ask ‘why’…?

    The concept of worth is one we still debate,
    Arguing the merit of free choice and fate.
    Translate it to coin, speak only of price,
    And suddenly the subject is clearer than ice.

    For the language of Men has become one of worth,
    And such price they can even place on the Earth.
    So if even a world can possess such value,
    Then how much would they pay for me…or for you…?

    Because in the end, what’s it all worth?
    And can it be measured by the threads of a purse?
    Is my life an asset that I can’t cash in…?
    My unhappiness my one and only sin…?

    What value could be placed upon me?
    That I somehow wouldn’t know or see;
    And don’t you think that I’d know best,
    Whether I’m content or filled with unrest?

    The fact that they would seek to weigh,
    The importance and worth of every day;
    And even more, where pride grows rife,
    They’d seek to value the gift of life.

    But such a gift cannot be measured,
    Not in pain or captive pleasure.
    Because that which may comfort you,
    May only make another blue.

    So the question is, what’s it all worth?
    And can you measure it within your purse?
    Or are you wise enough to humbly see,
    That how you live is not for me…?


    Who longs to grow and someday be?
    Who lives their life through poetry?
    Who seeks answers, truth to bear?
    Who feels alone most anywhere?

    Who dreams of things so sweet and pure?
    Who longs for more than just a cure?
    Who whispers of a rage inside?
    Who runs to meet the coming tide?

    Who suffers from such lunacy?
    Who longs to open eyes and see?
    Who fights for every waking breath?
    Who mothers hate and welcomes death?

    Who bleeds for change and roars to fight?
    Whose brother is the cold midnight?
    Whose eyes will never see the dawn?
    Who knows not where they are from?

    Who longs to grow and someday be?
    Who lives their life through poetry?
    Who begs for them to not exist?
    Who yearns for so much more than this…?
  17. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, Thank you again for posting your poetry. If you were presenting at a poetry show, I would certainly buy tickets to see the show. The poetry you wrote was amazing as always and I think people can relate to it. I know where you're coming from with poetry being a personal thing because I know you write it from the heart. Please do whatever makes you feel comfortable and share whatever you would like to share. These are your words and your words only and you have the right to do what you want with them.

    I just want you to know though that you're a fantastic poet and person. I hope that you have a great day too. Husky.
  18. Akela

    Akela Member

    Is there no one on this planet exactly just like me?
    No one with a sense of will, awaiting to be free?
    Is there no one who feels hate and fear as though they are as one?
    No one who would stand and fight and never think to run?

    Is there anyone worth talking to? Who’ll listen to my pleas?
    No one with a similar form of lunatic disease?
    Is there anyone who keeps their anger, red-hot, deep inside?
    No one with a point to prove, a stoic sense of pride?

    All I want is someone who perhaps will understand,
    That I never wanted any part of this corrupted land.
    Someone who, like me, would know the sound of lying tongues,
    Desperate just to scream and yet deterred by poisoned lungs.

    Is there no one out there listening? Does anyone take heed?
    And do they ever realize they’re spawn of a tainted seed?
    Is it truly hard to see and feel all of the ways you fail?
    Or is it just too frightening to drive that final nail?

    Always had I tried to accept all of my flaws,
    Broken and deterred by their hypocritical laws.
    But if I am the only one who wants and seeks to grow,
    How is it I could ever expect another just to know?

    Is there no one on this planet exactly just like me?
    No one who removed the wool to finally let them see?
    Is there no one who could understand…? Who knows just how it feels,
    To wake up every morning and wish it all wasn’t real…?
  19. Husky

    Husky Well-Known Member

    Hi Akela, Thank you for sharing yet another beautiful piece of poetry. It was very well written like all of your poetry is and I think it's something which everybody can relate to so thank you for posting it. You really are so good at poetry and I know you've mentioned it's personal so much of the time. However, I'm grateful for what you do post as it is always impactful and creative as well. Thank you again, Husky
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