You do not see me.
You do not hear me.
That does not mean that I am not there.
I exist, I am alive.
You cannot ignore me forever.
I am not going anywhere.
I will not be silent.
I am not invisible, rather in visible.
You can no longer turn a blind eye to me.
I will stand, I will be counted.
I matter, I am not something, I am someone.
I hurt, I bleed.
I am wounded, I am stricken.
I am diseased, I am sick.
But you don't see it that way.
You say it's all in my mind.
Of course it is.
That's what is sick.
You are so arrogant, you are ignorant.
So I am ignored.
I am forgotten.
You do not see me dying slowly.
You do not see my mind deteriorating.
As I sink into myself.
Despair overcomes me.
Your retribution holds me down.
You are the poison that I choke on.
You are why I am this I am.
I am terminal.
I will die.
You will never see me.
You will never hear me.
But you will.
I am not alone.
Anger and hate can be a terrible thing.
Especially when one is sick.
Everyone has their breaking point.
And when I do.
You will see me then.
You will hear me then.
But it will be too late.
The damage will already be done.
But you will never accept responsibility.
You will put it all back on me.
Pointing the shaking finger of blame squarely 
  at me.
How can I defend myself when I don't know 
  what is going on.
The me I was is now gone.
You could have saved me.
But you did not care.
You could not see past yourself.
Now look at the mess that I have brought.
The finger of blame should point directly at you.
I am now dead.
I died at my own hands.
But my blood is on your hands.
Even though you are getting away with murder.
But the stain is still on your heart.
Forget about me you will.
But I am not the only one.
We all have our breaking point.
And more blood will be spilled.
Because you just cannot accept our disease for
  what it is.
We are ill, we are sick, we are not afflicted.
Afflicted is how you try to make us out to be.
We will continue to die.
Hollow words and even more so empty actions.
Will not save a single one.
We want a cure, there has to be a cure.
It just needs to be searched for and found.
But that will never happen as long as you 
  continue to believe your own lies.
For too many it is too late.
Executed at their own hands but it was you
  pulling the strings.
Why do we have to suffer at all?
And worse off suffer in silence.
There is no hope.
Only desperation.
Lives are being stolen.
The numbers of the dead are growing.
Why does it have to be this way?
Why do we never learn?
We die every day.
We die silently.
We die.


1 comment:

  1. Mental illnesses is just that, an illness! No different from cancer, diabetes, heart disease, brain disease, CF, and so on...but no one sees it that way. Why? Because of stigma, people don't even realize it, their arrogance makes them ignorant, and so we are judged and we are left to fear retribution, ridicule and judgement. Too many suffer in silence, too many die because of that silence.


I'd love to know what you think of this poem.