Tag Archives: mental health

The Gift of Family

I feel ya, that’s what they say
During the evenings alone
Throughout the day

Your gone, but real
I’m here, but not
And that’s our deal

I’m blessed by you
What’s left behind
And the things to do

Your next to me reminding
Through unconditional eyes
And the love I’m finding

I’m gonna do better
From where I stand
Down to the letter

But you’ve work too
From where you stand
I’m watching you

Man to man we walk
Unseen by others
Nor hear us talk

My debt never paid
A lifetime of joy
From choices you made

Forgetting my debt
In your silence
I gather regret

Nights are a reminder
you breathe through me
And be a little kinder

But soon looms a date
A chance to remember
it’s never too late

To keep you alive
In memories I don’t have
Soon to arrive

Your debt unpaid
Entwined in my dreams
And plans we made

And in the end
Joy and happiness
Ours to send

Through eyes eternally
always sharing
The gift of a family

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Gift of Silence

The gift is old,
No longer possible
Nor shines like gold

There were moments,
Passed or played,
Not well spent

For gifts are shared
Not held
Or compared

Some you can open,
Others create,
Others spoken

It’s not the words praised
Or or objects held
For spirits raised

It’s the thought
That feels
Emotions caught

The gift of silence,
We’re understood
In just a glance

Seasons of the Heart

I used to feel more than the wind
I could hear the echo of memories
Dancing through my life
Sometimes glory, other times strife

My scorched soul lies in wait
As the summer sun mercilessly shines
Down on flesh and sand equally
Burning memories in kind

An autumn breeze becomes a scent
More than a smell, it’s a place and time
Traveling in a retrospective glance
With no reason or rhyme

Then the cold winter wind blows
touching chilling moments of pain
Freezing scenes of hope
As memories and fears wane

Then springs hope with the sounds
Of yesterday and tomorrow
The youth of thought
And the melting of sorrow

These are the seasons of my heart
Colorful and tragic in the same
Displayed for all to see
Or feel as I became

Pieces, Shards, and Moments

Moments lie scattered like pieces of a broken mirror.
Reflecting shattered remnants on a dusty floor.

It’s the sharp images that cut thoughts into a fragmented one.
Meanwhile I stand fixed on how many pieces I’ve become.

It’s never been as easy as me, or I am whole.
The I’s never really have anything but others they’ve stole.

Then the exponential value of all I am leaves me to wonder.
How many are you that watch
with silent eyes asunder?

The noise is deafening with thousands of us screaming,
Screaming to be heard within the silence of dreaming

So I’m lost, there is no one voice, and now I must think in silence.
The quiet aspects we ignore
leaving certainty in suspense.

All around are noises and silent eyes, words and looks reveal
what others have in mind
to lie, cheat, or steal.

So shattered I lie, shards of me
pieced together with scars,
and reflections of hope
In memories afar.

Addictive Advantage

The magicians cure is akin to the kid who breaks the neighbors window, but blames glass for being to thin, because he barely hit the ball. I’m amazed at how many people fall for the latest addiction narrative.

I’m watching this dude who skyrocketed out of nowhere with a an addicted co pilot who’s the victim of an evil capitalist agenda. He doesn’t stand a chance against the medicine designed to cure folks that some folks use as a crutch for their psychological maladies.

I’m not saying that “medicine” hasn’t found a niche that’s deceitful. Pharmaceuticals found out a long time ago how to make the Dr. a middleman and the insurance industry a financier. They did it dude, great plan. The problem is we started talking.

The change for me is, I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, addicts were demonized. The “Rolling Stones” pointed out the hypocrisy with lyrics like “Momma’s little helpers”. Millions of folks were hiding in their medicine cabinets behind the stereotypical evil “heroin addict”!

The cracks in the walls appeared here and there. Whether it was Elvis and his pills, the long list of country singers going up and down like roller coasters, but we didn’t talk about those things then. Today we talk about everything and the poseurs with their high end insurance coverage got called out. An addict is an addict. Just like they were saying back in the day.

So now we have the perfect character to defend the privileged addict who can keep the hierarchy of addiction in place by assigning blame. No longer do you take responsibility for your actions first. You create a victim by demonizing medicine that you decided to abuse, then talk about how you never stood s chance against the giants of pharmaceutical folks. Sounds to me like an addict not taking responsibility. These issues are not mutual, they’re separate and equal.

It’s the entrepenureal approach to recovery. At times I think the industry is blind to the addict. Focused too hard on who made the pills or which “recovery center” can franchise the fastest. Those with their eyes open see clearly. We see right through “front men” and victimized narratives. It’s just the same behaviors in a different hustle.

If there is one thing to take away from the last 70 or so years, it’s those dudes meeting in basements we’re right, an addict is an addict. Whether it’s street drugs or pharmaceuticals, you’re an addict. There’s no difference between the heroin addict nodding off in the park or the grandma nodding off in her favorite sitting room, they’re the same behaviors.

Addiction is a mental health issue that is shrouded with layers of co dependence that covers the addict like a wet blanket. It takes mental health professionals to treat addiction, not other addicts or grieving loved ones carrying a torch. No amount of dollars or guilt will solve this problem. Honest family members and friends catching the potential addict before the fall and getting them professional help will be a good start.

Unfortunately there’s money to be made, people to demonize, and co dependent people living off the addicts pain. If you’re in this fight find professional help. Look around your circle and evaluate those folks to see who genuinely could help you understand and move foreword with the professional knowledge you receive. Leave everyone else behind for a couple years till your well enough to call them out.

Don’t be fooled by the “ride or die” type. That’s part of the co dependent hook. Folks who say the “got your back” usually do. The question is which way are they facing. Don’t be fooled back into that space that closes in on you.

Rhythm of the Storm

Thunder on a tin roof cancels out the patter of thick raindrops beating a content rhythm. The staccato roll of memories fill my heart with a thud. Memories of you reverberate with us.

Lightening strikes as a glimpse into yesterday through a half empty bourbon bottle. Smoke drifts lazily towards a creaking ceiling fan wobbling to it own rhythm. Tomorrow doesn’t exist and now fades with each flash of lightening, leaving darkness in its wake.

Lost, me and the world, just staring into the distance entranced in times long faded into the myst. Here becomes there and now becomes then as I drift to the rhythm of memories drumming to the beat of the storm.

Soon the rain stops and the winds carry us away to distant horizons. Drops of us break free and fall to the earth silently. We are no longer a force. The thunder rumbles in distant memories as the lightening exposes the horizon for glimpses of maybe.

Then silence screams and the bourbon swishes within the bottle bringing sleep, rest for the lonely. I drift in and out of consciousness like I did love. Then I realize I’ve nothing left to fear but dreams.

Clouded Mirror

I’ve gazed into the stream
Watched my reflection
Drift away unseen

I’ve stood in the winds of time
And watched the world pass by
Making no sense or rhyme

Ive stood in the rain
Flooded with emotion
Void of pain

I’ve see the darkness within
Through the cracks of lightening
Flashing across a soul too thin

I’ve felt the thunder in my bones
Bring back memories
Thrown like sticks or stones

I’ve become the storm to love
Riding swollen streams
Under dark skies above

Life is reciprocal in tone
Darkness for light, evil sees good
And yet I walk alone

Where is my reflection
What reveals me,
Suffers my intention

So I assimilate the sublime
Like a cloudy day
Brings memories of sunshine

To reflect is giving myself away
revealing so little
Of who I truly seek one day

Until then I’ll ride the storms
And show you who you are
Taking different paths and forms