Just a Joke (Limerick)

There once was a man with depression,
his sarcasm was a kind of obsession,
When he’s about to choke,
Just told another joke,
What a very nice form of repression.



The monster is not inside the closet,

it’s not under the bed,

the monster lives inside of me,

whispering fears into my head.


It makes sure I will understand

the hidden meaning of the word,

so even the kindest niceties,

cut me deeper than a sword.


all sound is filtered, colors cut,

all is rude, sharp and grey.

The beauty in the world is not for me,

I won’t die just slowly wither and decay.


All these fading scars,

each different yet the same memory,

of a void and empty space inside,

that I thought I killed but only maimed.

It healed, it grew, became strong enough,

to start another fight.

If it will win I will die,

murder masked by suicide.

Vocabulary of Pain

My vocabulary for pain extends only for the outside,

Here I was cut, and here I was bruised,

Here I was hurt badly and stitches were used.

So why I cannot express the pain from within,

No words can be found, where the blackness begins,

It’s there, and it’s pressing right on your chest,

It pushes your tears out and gives you no rest.

It sucks your life out until you wither and die.

But that pain, always there, I cannot describe.

Chess Piece

This piece I have published in the reddit sub “Writing Prompts”, with the topic “A pawn chess-piece, suffering from PTSD from all the war, wishes to end it for once and for all.”

It starts again, the front line. Endless black and white pastures in front of me, so clear that I can see the enemy from here, their shining front line. But I’m not fooled anymore, after endless battles, I know that’s from here they are white, but when fighting face to face with them you can see the cracks, their scars.

What has happened will happen again, just like in the many times before. I will fight, I will try, I will die. Painfully, I will die. Screaming for my family, for help, for a medic, alone I will die.

I cannot take it anymore. Too much death, too much of my own death. I dream of taking my own life but I can’t, I have to obey the rules. Do the King and Queen know that some of the scars are ones I did to myself? Do they care as long as I am doing my job?

I want to be done with it. I’ve heard stories of soldiers that were scarred so hard that they broke, and other pawns replaced them. How can I arrange that?

First blood, I can here it, time to move again.


At the beginning practicing mindfulness was hard. Could not hold a session for more than 2-5 minutes, and even in that time my mind was going to every direction. Feelings, sensations, thoughts, I was distracted by everything.

Then it seemed that I was getting the hang of it – sessions were getting easier, 10, 15, 20 minute sessions were possible. Sure, I had distractions, but I was able to be non-reactive and non-judgmental (to some degree). It seems that I was in the “mindfulness zone”. I was actually seeing the benefits and liked doing these sessions.

But lately it seems to take a turn for the worse. Again, I cannot concentrate, I am distracted by everything. Dark feelings are distracting me, I’m feeling crushed by them. Sometimes I even find myself tearing, feeling sadness beyond any reason or control.

One of the thing mindfulness teaches is impermanence, that everything passes. When everything was OK I was grasping to the good feelings, and now when they passed I feel like I did something wrong. On the other hand now that everything is bad I can’t seem to shake the feeling that it will never go away. It’s here to stay.

I start the session and I feel that I’m about to burst in tears. I feel as if a dark vice is grabbing my insides. My chest is burning, my stomach is turning. Something is twisting, turning, suffocating, and seems to only be growing inside me, here to consume what is left. Did it ever hear of impermanence, does it know that it need to go away? Or is it here to stay?