Stuck on a Stranger

Well… it’s been a while since I’ve shared one of my poems with you. It can be a different sort of raw/openness to share these with the public, a very different way than I feel like most of my blogs are. With my blogs, I do my best to take my life and write it as though I’m telling someone the story of my life, vs. feeling like my blog is a journal. Yet, when I post my poetry, it feels like I am sharing with you a secret page from my personal diary. I hope you enjoy.

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The Silent Sands of Illness



This is a new rendition of a poem I wrote on my blog.

The Silent Sands of Illness

Spheres be fed the blackened beast,

For long to fill his gluttonous feast.

Not life itself could escape it’s grasp.

For death to all the plague they clasp.

Yet random the beast, it toyed it’s prey,

Amused with the game of chance to play.

Ally of time, it’s patient was astound.

Stomach growls the best around.

But who would have thought that the beast – himself,

Could make it’s prey place their hopes and aspirations into a shelf?

What will the prey be bound to do, to make it through?

The beast as it preys, acting as a bough,

A bough of illness.

Amused again by the game and a chance to play,

It’s patients were astound — astound,

by the growls of the beast’s stomach – the growls of the best around.

Thank you for being with me. Let us rebuild a healthy state of mind.

Love, Francesca.

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Healing Through Poetry

April is National Poetry Month. Poetry has played a significant role in my healing process. I spent many years discovering myself and learning how to heal. The things hurting me were not always clear. I wrote my first poem when I was 15 in 2002. Terrible does not describe those early poems, but I continued writing. Making sense of my emotions proved difficult. I didn’t understand myself completely. My childhood memories sat repressed in my mind making me feel and react to things. I never knew the cause until I began to heal.

As my trauma resurfaced, my poetry evolved. I had found my voice. After years of struggling with expressing myself, everything flowed with ease. In writing about my thoughts, fears, and anxieties, a blanket of burden lifted. I felt connected to those closest to me. I never felt connected to anyone. Poetry gave me the opportunity to understand my emotions and develop my thoughts. When I get an idea to write something, I often consider it as a poem first before other writing options. I don’t often have the money for therapy. Poetry acts as therapist to help me work through difficult problems.

I have a long way to go yet, but I’m confident that I’ll find my way to recovery. Writing poetry has kept me going for this long. I imaging I’ll write until I can’t type or lift a pen anymore. Everyone is different and I understand that writing poetry may not help others heal. I do encourage everyone to try. Especially during National Poetry Month. I wouldn’t call most of my poems great or inspiring. I have pride for creating something and I’d rather create than destroy. Creating something is what leads to healing. I recommend practicing an art form to anyone who struggles to heal.

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Letter to myself

Hello and welcome to this blog. I want to give a little warning, in this blog I will share a poem I have made about a letter to myself of my past. And this could trigger anxiety, depression, and suicide for those who are easily triggered. This poem is about my past and things I have personally been gone through and for that I hope you guys can respect that. I would love to hear your thoughts/story/emotions about this topic. And I want to make one thing very clear. No matter who you are and what you have gone through you are worth fighting for and be the best and most beautiful version of yourself. Because beauty shines from inside out.

Now please enjoy the poem. For more blogs made by me: prettyrose177


Dear me

Dear me,
Life is not easy, nor will ever be.
You are a fighter and a survivor.
And worthy of love
and to revive her.

Dear me,
Sticks and stones can’t and will not break your bones.
Life will get you down,
They will get you down.
They will call you names like ugly and fat.
Just your life is so much more than that.

Dear me,
They might break you.
They might haunt your dreams.
And they will go to extremes.
Just don’t give up.
You are worthy of love.

Dear me,
Don’t let the anxiety killing me.
Dear me,
Don’t let them control me.

Dear me,
You can save a life
Just throw away that knife.
A knife of pain and suffering
And all the illness it will bring.

Dear me,
I will fight for you,
I will love you,
I will take care of you.
Just don’t give up hope.

Dear me,
Let your light shine.
Let them see,
Who you are and mend to be.

Dear me,
Show them they won’t control you
Show them you are stronger than ever before.
And that you have a lot more strength in store.

Dear me,
You are loved.
Dear me,
Your angels watch from above.

My Loud Whispers of Hope–My New Blog Name and a Poem

“Turn loud whispers of hope

into shouts of joy

for the triumph of life and living.”

~Susan Walz


My Loud Whispers of Hope

When I finally accepted the theory that Bipolar 1 Disorder was in fact a misdiagnosis for 26 years, a heavy ugly weight has slowly been lifted from my being and soul. It is in a small sense an emptiness–void of a label I worked long and hard to finally accept after many years of fighting it. Now there is a huge lightness and freedom from this release of a hugely stigmatized label that was branded on my forehead like a flashing neon light for the world to see.

Since I have embraced the lack of the bipolar disorder label from my list and my LIFE, I realized it was time for a new blog name. I wanted to keep the name My Loud Bipolar Whispers similar so I just removed the word bipolar and wanted to name my blog My Loud Whispers but it was already taken. Rats.

At first I thought My Loud Whispers of Hope was too long, but then I decided it was perfect. Hope was the key to my recovery and beginning of my journey of wellness.

I wrote the following poem AFTER I changed my blog name. I started writing my blog post and this poem was transpired.

I hope you like my poem and I hope you like my new blog name.

Be well my friends.

Much love and hugs, 

Sue


My Loud Whispers of Hope

The silence of shame

ate at my soul,

weakened my spirit,

and extinguished my light,

until God ignited my spark,

rekindled my flame

and unmuted my voice

with loud whispers of hope.

My loud whispers of hope

became clearer words

of strength,

recovery and healing.

My loud whispers of hope

became lyrics and melodies

of courage,

inspiration and faith.

My loud whispers of hope

became shouts of joy

for the triumph of life and living.

~written by Susan Walz

“Turn loud whispers of hope

into shouts of joy

for the triumph of life and living.”

~Susan Walz

Copyright © 2019 | myloudbipolarwhispers.com | All Rights Reserved

On My Own

I’ve written two poems on my personal blog, you can find them here and here. I used to write a LOT of (terrible) poetry back in middle school/high school days. It was a way of venting and basically shouting to the world “I HAVE DEPRESSION” but I hid them in my notebooks, never to see the light of day. I read a little of my old high school poetry and it sparked me back into writing. I’m a little rusty, but here’s the third poem I created recently.

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My Happily Ever After…

“You can’t get to ‘happily ever after’ without turning the page.” ~unknown

Once upon a time…

I wonder how many more me’s there are of me to be.

How many more times can I fully transform to live my life again,

to live a life worth living, and to make myself become worthy of the me there is to be?

The last me was hatched and broken.

Now I have been given a second chance.

A chance to be reborn again,

not in the flesh as I have already been.

But still, I must revamp my body and mind

to become better, stronger and more

than I  have ever been before.

Being patient and giving myself ample time to incubate,

and develop fully into the best me I can be.

I have a chance to be reborn again,

not in the spiritual sense as I have already been.

But still, I must refresh, renew and improve my relationship with Christ.

When I look back on my life I have transformed myself too many times to count.

So many different chapters in my life.

So many different types of books my life has been and continues to be.

It seems my life has gone down too many different paths,

getting lost along the way,

and sometimes reaching a dead end.

I must find a way to keep focused on positive dialogues in my life

and inside my own mind,

find consistent, reliable and positive characters in my life,

and develop a new plot that I can keep, follow, thicken and grow,

until one day I will have a happy ending.

…and she lived

happily ever after.

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Copyright © 2018 Susan Walz | myloudbipolarwhispers.com | All Rights Reserved

Losing Hopes To Despair

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Losing Hopes To Despair: Thus Passes A Lifetime 

by: Francesca Seopa

There’s a battle being fought behind the curtain
An enemy awaits me, on that I’m certain

There are blows being thrown where im out of sight
But my armour awaits the evil that lurks with night

Cuddled in my manner of ancient darkness
Puzzled at the thought of a destructive kindness

It is orion that has lead me here
One that bears the tales of mysteries found at Giza

Vanity it might’ve been
A route embedded in my own imagination is one I could’ve seen

Insanity is what i feel;

A bot of maturity is what you’ll need to heal

It’s the voice;
The voice, the voice that made me believe there lives a choice between the paths of emotion and reason.

Yes indeed it was the voice
That drew my devotion and blinded my senses from the sins of the seasons.

Embraced by the orbits of overtuned obscurities;
Anger,Hate,Regret, Resentment, Anxiety,Betrayal and oh yes Fear

Fear is He who’s battle triumphs I hear the most

There’s a battle being fought behind the curtain

The weapons are drawn
As the horn is blown
The horn is blown
And the weapons are drawn

My courage cuddles in a corner
Questioning why it was summoned

Anger raises a flag of cowardice
Hate awakens social exile
Fear chooses to run that extra mile

Exhausted by distress
What they think I could careless
A river cried full of tears
A youth filtered no sign of peers

An enemy awaits me
Listen-
The horn is blown

With sounds signalling sympathy

A war-cry is heard
Adrenaline is endured
The thunder of drums drilling devotion

I collect the scattered corners and cuts of my uniformly coloured collage of sorrow

As I seek to approach the curtain
Coiled in curiosity
Cautioned by the confusion of what may arise
Visions at a flashing rate

Stop!
I’ve had it with lies let whatever it is be a surprise

Trapped in the muds of truth
Cautiously analyzing the buts of previous burns.

A batlle is fought behind the curtain
An enemy awaits me on that im certain.

Thank you for being with me. I look forward to seeing you here soon. Let us rebuild a healthy state of mind.

Love,

Francesca

Melancholy – A Poem

“And so being young and dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.”

Edgar Allen Poe

Hello. You’re back. I remember you well. We go way back and are like old friends of sorts, or acquaintances, or frenemies rather.

I missed your familiarity. You are ugly, yet comfortable like my old favorite, ripped up, tattered and torn sweatshirt.

I feel you. I know you. I sensed you were coming back and here you are.

Now, I’m not alone in my loneliness. Not with you entering back into my life. You are here giving me a gentle hug. A squeeze to my heart. A peculiar warmth. Your essence creating a sorrowful glow that touches my heart weighing it down like an uneven brick of pressure.

You are a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause. Your name is melancholy. A painful melancholy that overwhelms and overflows my spirit.

Miss melancholy, I know you. Sometimes you bring all your friends with you. Sadness, sorrow, unhappiness, desolation, dejection, depression despondency, the blues, gloom and misery. You are basically the same and yet slightly different at the same time. You seem to work in groups. One leads to the other or leads to a group of mass destruction that can wreak havoc on the most beautiful life.

You call out my name and scream, but no one else can hear you except me. I listen to you because I know you. You have been part of my life for many years, since I was a little girl.

The depths of familiar pain I have reached with you by my side. This indescribable feeling is still a feeling. Oh, the depths of something I can’t describe.

I have been blessed and cursed in ways others can never know unless they too have been visited by your touch. I know the depths of human emotion for I have known death while living. Pre-death, the outer edges of dying, the place just tipping the end. A flirtatious taste of what it is. I know it. I have been there.

Your hug is singing inside me. You have come to visit so far a little bit at a time. However, I fear you will overstay your visit. Please do not try to get too close. I don’t want you to stay and enter back into my life fully and completely. You are destructive and can lead to depression.

You have caused tears already. Tears that have come when I did not want them to come. I think you have been here long enough. It is time for you to leave and take your tears with you. Take your sorrow. Take your grief and your shame and you hurt and your regret. Take it all. I do not want it. I need you to flee. It is time for you to run, scram and scadaddle out of here.

Get out of my heart, get out of my soul and get out of my life for good. Never return.  Goodbye.

“Melancholy is the happiness of being sad.” Victor Hugo


Copyright © 2018 Susan Walz | myloudbipolarwhispers.com | All Rights Reserved

My Dear Old Friend

You use to help me when I needed you the most.

Dependable. Reliable.

Confident. Creative.

Sharp. Quick with the wit.

You helped me find the perfect words to say.

Reminded me of memories from my past,

reliving beautiful images and making them last.

You helped me understand a movie I watched

or comprehend words from a book,

so I could interpret the words in a way that I should.

I loved you.

You were always there for me,

until you vanished and betrayed me.

You left me. I was left to defend myself in a world all alone.

A world that is not kind to people like me, living without you, after you left.

People did not understand that only part of me had left.

That part of me missing was you, but the rest of me was still there.

Parts of me were still intact.

They just couldn’t see the real me hidden from the rest of me, after you left.

I was not the same, but I was still there.

I was still the kind and caring person I have always been.

I was in there somewhere.

Trying to be strong and get out again.

I needed a gentler world to see me and guide me through,

as I tried to live in a world without you.

I missed you

and needed you desperately.

I can’t live without you.

The world was a scary and difficult place to live without you.

Then slowly you came back to visit.

Not all at once and never exactly the same.

But, still you returned.

I began to see the world as a better place again.

Nothing changed, but yet everything changed.

Images became clearer and more vivid.

Words came back quicker, some memories restored.

Information recalled. Functioning and living returned.

I began to enjoy life again.

My light became lit.

My spark ignited.

Joy and love filled my heart,

because you came back.

You are my dearest friend.

You,

my friend,

are my mind

and you left me.

You left me when I needed you the most.

Never leave me again.

I need you.

You complete me.

You make me whole.

I cannot live without you.

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

I will do everything in my power and control

to never lose you again.

You are always a friend of mind mine.

Never mind.

We will always be BFFs,

best friends forever,

my mind and I.

~written by Susan Walz

Copyright © 2018 Susan Walz | myloudbipolarwhispers.com | All Rights Reserved