Saturday, September 2, 2017

My Soul

One of the many things I cannot understand about our society is the distinction made between physical and mental illnesses.

Even though the treatment of mental illnesses has improved in the past few years, psychiatrists still know very little about the brain. But that’s not what worries me the most.

In my opinion, the saddest aspect of this issue is the stigma still attached to mental illnesses.

Nobody would look down on you if you told them you have flu or cancer. So why do they start treating you differently if you say you are depressed or bipolar or whatever?

People have to be educated and have to learn to respect those who suffer the torture of mental illness.

The poem below is dedicated to those who suffer or have suffered from depression and have felt isolated or alone.

Maybe if more people speak about this topic, things will improve in the future and there will be less ignorance and less discrimination of mental patients.


My soul
Is buried
Under the stone
That darkens 
The way.

My soul
Is crushed 
By a huge boulder
That does not 
Budge.

My soul
Is trapped 
Against the wall
And I can’t 
Breathe.

What will I do?
How will I release my soul?
I am weak, I am powerless.
I am a slave
To this depression 
That deprives my soul
Of 
All 
Future Joy
Or expectation.

My soul 
Is dead.
It’s black 
As ink.
I’ve been 
Robbed 
Of all my dreams.

But I have heard
I’ll fly again.
I’ll see the light
That has been dimmed.

My soul 
One day
Will soar and dance.
All the sorrows
Will fade 
And be forgotten…

My soul
Will sing 
A happy song, 
A song of thanks.





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