Grounds For Clarity Interview on TBW Blog

Interview with Ground for Clarity LLC Founder Kim Johnson

This interview speaks for itself. If you want more information on Grounds for Clarity reach out by email @ groundsforclarity@protonmail.com.

For ASIST Suicide Prevention Training Program | LivingWorks please visit here: https://www.livingworks.net/asist

Always Keep Fighting

James

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A Depression Poem – By J.E. Skye

I wanted to preface this poem with a “trigger warning,” this is a poem I wrote about suicide and depression recently, at this time I am NOT depressed or suicidal. But, this poem could trigger those feelings, so please read only if you are in a safe place. This free-verse poem was written during a poetry class in my last semester of my bachelor’s degree. It was my raw feelings when I was suicidal turned into a poem, please enjoy. I will link the other poem I posted recently.

Updated Version of my Poem: 12:15 am

My Darkest Depression

It has been a long while. I am lost in my darkest contemplations. Sinking, unable to breathe. “I’m Depressed,” there I admit it. Teetering, on the edges of the blackest of thoughts— suicide. The darkness serves as my safe and unsafe place. “I am always here for you,” says the darkness— it is far away in the distance, but I hear its cry. Fearful of this darkness I let the thoughts of the end consume, afraid of what could happen. What might happen? What will happen? This winding road is leading me to the point of no return. The darkness laughs, and it moves closer in the distance.

My thoughts seek the out the painful memories, and the thoughts missile into my consciousness. Afraid. So Afraid of losing myself. My life is a mess, a black hole of endless despair. At night I lay my head down— wanting to cry, and so I cry myself to sleep. “Yes, my friend, give in. You belong here with those who lose themselves.
Wishing. Waiting. Wanting. This will be my last day, nevermore. Awake. Alone. Again. Another day lost in the darkness, it consumes my inner soul.

God hates me for what I have become, I hate myself so much that God— he has given up on me. Let’s face it, my hope evaporated long ago, it is a wonder that no one in my life wants anything to do with this lost soul. “I am here for you—always,” the darkness tells me. Can I fight this— is there something I can do? Probably not. My life is this mess. The Chaos. I created a monster inside me.

The darkness begins to consume, first my mind— and then my body. The darkness is just outside my door, it tells me this is the right thing. “Death is just mean to an end— the end of the infinite agony,” he tells me. “Give in, your life is not worth living. Give in, it will be painless.” Thoughts devour any shred of hope. The darkness wants to win. It just might.

I find myself on edge again— a familiar place, but this time it is different. I lay out the pills tidily in front of me. Counting. Thinking. “Yes,” exclaims the darkness, “this is who you are now.” How many sleeping pills does it take to sleep forever? This becomes routine— a nightly ritual that never changes. I tell myself every night, this is the night. “You must do this now,” the darkness hovers just beside me, “this is your destiny.” A flood of my past consumes my present. There is no future.

What does life mean anymore? I continue to perish in sinking into darkness. Forever. Darkness, my best friend— and worst enemy. Depression my frequent companion, never leaving me. My darkest depression. Will I give in?

Always Keep Fighting.

What is the worse that can happen?

James Edgar Skye

For everything James Edgar Skye use the QR code below Or use this link.

If You Ever Need The Bipolar Writer

I am doing something unorthodox today here on The Bipolar Writer. I hope that I have created a place where my fellow mental health sufferers can have a “safe place” to discuss their own issues. I often get emails from many who are seeking help or guidance or just want to talk about things. I want everyone who comes to this blog to know that if you are suicidal there is always someone here, I am always here to talk.

The unorthodox part is that today I am going to give my number to my followers if you are suicidal and you don’t want to reach out to help-lines (I have learned recently that they are not always great.) So, if you need to chat you can text me anytime. I will get back to you as soon as humanly possible. As a mental health advocate and someone who has been through the worst parts of mental illness alone, I want you to know I am a lifeline.

831-287-4369

You are not alone. Suicide is not the answer. Again, I am always here to talk anytime.

Always Keep Fighting.

What is the worse that can happen?

James Edgar Skye 

For everything James Edgar Skye use the QR code below Or use this link.

A J.E. Skye Poem – An Anxiety Poem

This poem is the latest version of A Little White Pill that I updated in my poetry class a couple of months back. I wanted to share this newest version with you today. I think this one is going into my memoir, but I haven’t fully decided. When I start my Master’s in October, one of my focuses will be on poetry writing since I enjoyed writing so much. Please share your thoughts on my poem!

Always keep Fighting!

James

A Little White Pill

A little white pill,

it means the world.

When you fail to take it,

it attacks your will to live,

makes you feel things no human should.

Reminders of a constant feeling—

hopelessness. Panic. Fear. Uneasiness.

It begins.

I can’t breathe or focus.

My mind races— dark thoughts dot my mind.

‘I am going insane.’

‘I am losing control.’

‘What will people think?’

Oh, so many thoughts.

Worst case scenarios playing out in my mind.

—People. Gathering around me as I sit on the floor,

panic consuming. People pointing. “What is wrong with this man?

He needs help! Someone call 9-1-1.—”

Will I survive? I have to stay home,

it is safe here.

Panic, as if death were right outside the window,

Pushing glass and— it is only a matter of time

before the glass shatters.

I can’t go out, I have to stay.

My panic chases me like the bee I am allergic to.

It’s safe here. “Stay, just stay.”

There is a whole world out there—

no please stay.

My mind is winning.

I can’t do this.

“How can someone live like this?”

Spinning out of control,

my chest tightens like a wet towel tightened

but all the water dissipates with each breathe.

—I can’t breathe.

Why is this happening?

I must sit. No, I can’t sit. You must.

A tingling sensation consumes my hands.

First at the tips and before long,

it is engulfing my hands.

“Stay calm,” they say.

I feel so cold, “Why am I sweating?”

What is this?

Numbness takes over as if I am nothing.

I get lost in it, I do everything I can.

Nothing helps—

wait, what about that little white pill.

A new dosage. More powerful than before.

I take that white pill.

Time—it moves slowly.

Yes. I can feel it now. It’s over.

It’s finally over.

I should have done mindfulness breathing.

Who knew a little white pill, was the answer?

I wonder. Was it the cause or the cure?

Like the doctor said, take as prescribed.

J.E. Skye

Photo Credit: rawpixel