Seven years ago, before Ben’s first hospitalization, he took a poetry class at a local community college. I look at his class assignments now and wonder how I could ever have doubted the seriousness of his illness. Where is the line drawn between creativity and complete inner chaos?
My wind grows weary
Monotony is thick
The rivers ain’t clear
As I am stained by this thick…mud puddle
Whilst I bear my own radiance
Sinned they be by a typical DEMONstration
Of a casual world spoiled by love
And a casual battle and death from above
Preaching false ideas
Made right for hatred is doubt
And through this calamity I can hardly reach out…to you.
This short poem makes some sense, though many others did not. But – the “DEMON” in capital letters? His own radiance buried underneath thick mud? To whom could he not reach out? To God? To me? But I was there all along, and at that time he refused my love. What was I to do?
0 thoughts on “Ben’s Poetry, age 21”
It's heartbreaking — that's the only word I can use to describe this post. It reminds me of when I was 17 and in a mental hospital and they wanted me to write lots of stuff. Mom probably still has it, and I doubt I would want to look at it at this point in my life, especially since I just started a full-blown manic episode a little over a week ago.
The medication was supposed to knock the mood down to normal, but here I am on the computer at 3 a.m. and unable to sleep, so I'm probably still manic. Luckily for me, I live in the same town as my mom and dad and they've been able to take care of me whenever my wife can't.
Great blog, Randye. By the way, I'm very pleased with my demo. Once I get my mood under control, I'll start aggressively marketing my demo.
Sorry if this post is long — I tend to do that when I'm manic.
Ben – thank you so much for writing, for sharing your experience too. You have amazing courage, as does my son. I don't know if my Ben knows his own strength; I hope you do.