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by ReeRee DonDada 3 months ago in sad poetry
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Mental Illness

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Broken wishes, broken hopes and broken dreams, there is nothing more painful, than these things.

Knowing you're broken, but there is nothing you can do to fix it.

I can see all the things I can and should do, fixing them in my mind.

In my mind I've fixed them all, in thought, at least a thousand times.

Like, if I had it all figured out, I'd be better off by now.

Wondering if I had the monetary means, to do all the things that cost, would it make me happier, or less?

Would I be one step closer to being the captainess of my ship, the master of my fate, the ruler of my sea and goddess of my universe?

Pointless... I don't have the money to even seek to know these things.

Thinking, if I wasn't so depressed,

I would have the willpower to do all the things that took determination, and dedication.

I need more than some inspirational quotes a motivational speaker wrote.

I'm fighting mental illnesses, with their own demons, and they've come with a caseworker. Like the dead couple in the movie Beetlejuice.

And they've decided to form a band together, calling themselves The Chemical Imbeciles of My Mind, and they've vowed to have band rehearsal whenever they'd like.

No warnings... Just surprise!

Now I'm manic, and I'm too broken to fight.

Insomnia, followed by the newest episode, is on the arise.

I'm praying this one, doesn't have me walking outside naked with just my bible, quoting bible scriptures, searching for a garden. Trying to get back to my castle. Staring up at the night's sky, in the middle of the street, like an animal caught in headlights; waiting for God to beam me up into His spaceship, me trying to project myself up there, into space. Again.

Broken things need to be fixed, or they need not exist.

No amount of strength is going to make me want to do all the things I should.

All the things I could,

all the things I would do.

If broken people, hurt people,

Then it's only fair I'm not capable of doing the things I want to,

the things I need to, the things I should and ought to do.

And although I know, it's me, hurting me,

because I'm broken.

I'm too broken to even care.

Too broken to even fear.

I ask people all the time, 'What's their motivation,'

as if they'll say something, and it'll resonate within.

Causing me to leap up from my state of depression, of brokenness, covered up by laziness.

Into a state of desperation, drop down and give myself 60 pushups, 60 sit ups, and jump up into a sprint, to give me, 60 seconds worth of distance run.

Like the white rabbit, "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

But I'm broken.

Too broken.

Even if I did, do all those things I said, how long would it last this time?

It's nothing new, I always get a second wind. It just doesn't stick.

I'm broken, and there's nothing I can do, until I'm fixed.

So, until then...

I'm just wishing,

I'm just hoping,

I'm just dreaming,

I'm doing all these things; all while being broken.

sad poetry

About the author

ReeRee DonDada

✨Moving In Silence; Minding My Business, In Slow-Mo 💫Yada-Yada✨

I'm here to create, in whatever way I can, whatever way that may look like. I am getting back into writing, so please bear with me.

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