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Tag Archives: anxiety

Bi-polar (polar)

28 Saturday Oct 2017

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

anxiety, arctic, depression, global warming, polar bear

Up in the arctic circle the polar bear is in a whole lot of trouble.

Winters are getting shorter and the temperature is rising.

And the pack ice is melting at an alarming rate.

And pack ice is essential if the polar is to hunt and survive.

If the polar bear can’t hunt and feed than that would be be end of the polar bear.

Do we really want to live in a world with no polar bear?

Well that is a real possibility if we don’t stop global warming right now.

But global warming isn’t the only threat facing the arctic circle right now

A rogue male polar bear named Frank is causing havoc with the animal population.

Word is spreading fast about this bear of many moods.

They call him cranky franky frank the tank and other names i can’t mention here.

And quite frankly the other animals have had enough.

At the moment Frank is feeling a little bit down.

In fact he is at the depth of despair.

You see Frank Frank is manic depressive or bi-polar as it is called these days.

He has found refuge in an old abandoned innuit igloo on the edge of the feeding

grounds.

Frank hasn’t eaten in days because he can’t work up the energy to get out of bed

All because of a short circuit deep inside his brain.

Frank was the biggest polar bear in the area and could have had the pick of any female that he wanted.

If only the had the energy to venture outside.

Frank has no idea that his fat reserves are at a dangerously low level.

And if he doesn’t eat soon he will starve to death.

He has a look at the sleet falling outside rolls over and is soon fast asleep.

In the morning Frank feels like he could fly.

He jumps out of bed combs his fur sprays deodorant under his paw pits has a look in the mirror and goes outside.

He is ready for some serious polar bear action.

A female polar bear notices Frank standing outside his igloo looking skinny and desperate.

Like a boxer that has fought ten rounds and is slowly losing the fight.

The female has heard all about Frank and his moods so she gathers up her cubs heads to the hills.

Well there aren’t any hills in the arctic circle but she heads toward them anyway.

Because who knows what mood Frank is in today.

Frank cant help but notice the startled look on the females face.

Surely his moods haven’t been that bad?

But deep down Frank knows that lately he hasn’t been a very nice bear.

It is like living on the string of a yoyo up and down up and down.

Frank is getting dizzy because his moods are swinging so fast.

And he can’t control them.

A couple of days later Frank is moping about his igloo when an inner voice tells him that he really needs to eat.

So Frank works up the courage puts a smile on his face and goes outside to hunt.

And he is in luck.

Close to his igloo over a hundred walrus are relaxing on the ice digesting their lunch of fish and squid.

Frank sneaks up behind the walrus like a cat stalking a mouse.

But because he is way out of practise Frank bumbles and stumbles and the walrus

slip into the water turn around and flip Frank the bird.

Frank is ashamed of himself.

He is a polar bear so why can’t he behave like one?

Up here he is supposed to be on top of the food chain but at the moment he would struggle yo catch a cold.

Frank wanders back home with his tail between his legs.

Another day has gone by without him consuming any food.

This can’t go on much longer.

Frank is semi conscious in his igloo oblivious to a blizzard raging outside.

The wind is whipping up all sorts of muck and trouble

It also stirs up a patch of lichen and carries it off into the night.

And as luck would have it the lichen is blown straight into Franks igloo.

And a few pieces land on Franks tongue.

Frank coughs and splutters and swallows the lichen down.

Through out the night as Franks body digests the lichen his hormones regulate and go back on an even keel.

And in the morning Frank wakes up feeling refreshed having slept like a new born cub.

Frank is now back to his normal self.

The female bears are keeping him company once again.

And he is catching enough seals and walrus to feed the whole group.

Plus everyday he walks to a lichen patch to get his daily medication.

All is good in the world.

Frank the polar bear is controlling his mood swings completely unaware that his species

is under threat of extinction.

His enviroment is shrinking at an alarming rate.

All because of the activities of another species.

Homo sapians.

But knowing people like i do.

Nothing will get done until it is way too late.

Politicans will talk and talk until they are blue in the face

It will take them years to come to a decision.

And as people talk global warming will continue to decimate species and the ice will continue to melt.

It is now time for action.

Because it we don;t it will not only mean the extinction of the polar bear but the beginning of the end of mankind.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can realixe my dream and become a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

THE END.

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I Cut

04 Sunday Jun 2017

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

anxiety, blood, cutting, depression, despair, desperation, knife, razor, suicide

I cut myself this morning.

I cut myself deep.

My skin starts to tingle.

And my demons start to creep.

I cut a little deeper.

And i kind of like the pain.

I stare into my bathroom mirror.

And i cut myself again.

My cutting tool of choice.

Is a sharp little pocket knife.

I cut because i am always afraid.

My knife is my one and only friend.

I will cut until the bitter end.

I cut myself one more time.

And a line of blood appears on my face.

I look into my mirror.

But i stare into space.

I cut a little deeper.

And hope that my memories will disappear.

My blood runs down my face.

And mingles with my tears.

I don’t usually cut my face.

But my life has become a living hell.

I had to deal with a lot of people.

And i don’t do that well.

I cut myself again.

With my trusty little blade.

And i watch my blood flow.

I love my fucking knife.

It gets me through my life.

I know that i am a huge failure.

I never do anything right.

I try my best but it is never good enough.

Why do i even get out of bed.?

Who is that person living in my head?

My favourite colour is blue.

So why do i like blood so much?

Just a little nick.

And i feel some pleasure.

A pleasure that cuts through the pain.

I  feel some sort of release.

Some well earned peace.

A few of my friends at work.

Asked me about the cuts on my face.

I told them that i got scratched by my neighbours cat.

They laughed ‘Was it a fucking tiger?’

I tried to laugh with them.

But i could barely manage a smile.

While beneath the table i fondle my trusty blade of steel.

Only my knife knows how i feel.

I cut for the first time when i was thirteen.

I thought i was just your normal schoolboy

But the other kids thought different.

And they let me know in no uncertain terms.

I was constantly on my guard.

With a belly full of worms.

I was called names had my hair pulled

And some of the other kids even spat on my face.

That is when i retreated into my mind.

And went to a better place.

So i bought myself a pocket knife.

And started to cut.

The best places to cut.

Was my inner arms and thighs.

I cut and cut with silent cries.

When i was fourteen.

I was brutalised so much at school i could barely

function.

I struggled home a broken little boy.

The other kids had taken all of my joy.

That night i ran myself .

To try to drown away my sorrows.

As i washed myself my eyes were drawn to my fathers razor

sitting on the edge of the tub.

I picked it up and gave it a tender rub.

The razor was a wilkerson sword of unknown vintage.

Old and rusty but sharp just the same.

As i held that razor.

I heard it calling my name.

One deep cut.

And all of my pain would be gone.

But o couldn’t do it.

I didn’t want my parents to find me in a bath full

of blood.

So i just gave myself a shallow cut.

And marvelled at the drops of red.

I smiled at the sight.

And toddled off to bed.

I cut because i feel like it.

I cut because i can.

I cut to free myself.

I cut to be a better man.

They say that the first cut is the deepest.

But my deepest cut is yet to come.

It might be tomorrow or the day after that.

But my deepest cut will be one day very soon.

Of that i can give you a guarantee.

So listen really well.

Because this is my final plea.

I CUT.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can realize mt dream of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

THE END.

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My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

29 Friday Jul 2016

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

anxiety, colours, depression, feelings, suicide, The blue's

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

Now i am feeling kind of Beige.

I just Blend in with My Surroundings.

Beige is the Favourite Colour on all of the Walls.

I am the Beige in the Background.

 

And even though i am in plain Sight

No one seems to notice Me.

I am the Invisible Man.

Wrapped in Beige Bandages.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

I Feel kind of Grey

A Grey Fog has entered My Mind

And it is messing with My Thinking

 

I Wear Grey Pants and Coat

Like a Funeral Director

I am Feeling down and heavy

Like a big Grey Cloud

Is Grey My Colour Now?

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

Now i feel kind of Yellow

I Said Yellow not Mellow

On the Exterior i might look like i am in Control

But in the Interior My Insides are doing Somersaults

 

My Life has Been a series of Slip Ups and Falls

Like i am Riding a Giant Yellow Banana Peel

 

A Yellow School Bus used to take Me to a Place

Where i didnt wont to be

And a Bright Yellow Raincoat never seemed to Protect Me.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

I Think My Colour is Purple

Like One Giant Contusion

I am Purple to the Core.

 

Just like an Apple with a Purple Bruise

I am picked up than put back on the Shelf

Purple reminds Me of all the Bruises

That used to Cover My Body.

I was always getting Pushed around and Abused

I am just a purple Bruise.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

I Feel kind of White

The Snow is Falling Outside

But i never Feel Snug and Tight

My Clean White Sheets

Remind Me of a Hospital Bed

Sometimes White can be very Stark

 

I am Blinded by the Whiteness

I am Writing this Story on White Paper

With My Snow Blind Eyes

Try as i Might

I dont really like White.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

I Think i will try Tangerine

Tangerine isnt a Whole Colour

It is stuck Somewhere in between

Tangerine is the Colour of a Car

That Nobody wants to Buy

Do People really have Tangerine Dreams?

 

Tangerine is the Favourite Colour in Bryon Bay

Where People Live in a Dope Smoke Daze

The Smoke hangs Heavy in the Tangerine Sky

I sort of kind of like Tangerine

But at the same Time i dont

I dont wont to Dream in Tangerine

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

Now i am Red

Red like the Blood that is Flowing through My Veins

But i wont My Blood to Leave My Body

And Spray the Walls Red

 

But at the same Time Red is the Colour of some Flowers

And the Colour of My favourite Shirt.

But i cant stop Thinking about My Sheets Stained with Red

A Razor in My Hand Cutting and Slashing

And i wont stop until i can no longer See Red.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

Because My favourite Colour is Black

When You Feel Black no other Colour matters

Black is the Ultimate.

Black is the Colour of Evil and Badness

 

Black is the Colour on the Dark Side of the Moon

Black is the Colour of a Killers Soul

Black is the Colour of the Blackest Black Hole

 

But then again You havent Seen Inside of My Head

That is the Blackest Place in the Universe

I Feel Blacker than Black

Is there a Darker Colour?

 

Cause if there is  i wont to know what it is

Because i do Feel Darker than Blue.

 

My Blues ( Are All Blue Again )

I Think i Will always be Blue

I am Tired of dealing with different Colours

Blue is the Colour for Me.

THE END

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories, now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can achieve my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

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Suicide Letter

28 Sunday Feb 2016

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

anxiety, depression, lonliness, suicide, suicide letter

This is just a Story.

This is My Suicide Letter.

I have been dealt My final  Card.

They say Life wasn’t meant to be easy.

But why does it have to be so fucking hard?

I was Born in the Shit.

In My Teens I was still in the Shit.

My Twenties saw Me deep in the Shit.

My Thirties saw Me Swimming in a River of Shit.

In My Forties I stopped Swimming I just started to Float.

Now in My Fifties am I am being weighed down by a Shit

filled heavy Overcoat.

I am tired of feeling weighed down.

Getting sucked down into the Muck.

But at the same time I don’t give a damn.

I really couldn’t give a Fuck.

But I don’t want to go out that way.

I want to go on My terms.

Maybe I will fall into a Vat of hot Oil.

Or get Eaten Alive.

By Ten Thousand Blood sucking Worms.

When I think back to My Teenage Years.

Well I really try not to.

Cause bad Memories bring on the Tears.

I think about all of the Abuse that I went through.

Verbal Abuse Physical Abuse and Sexual Abuse.

The Verbal was being called a lot of nasty Names.

Pretty Boy Girly Boy and a lot of others that I wont mention.

Constantly being told that I was nothing but a piece of Shit.

But to My Tormentors it was just a Game.

They didn’t care how much the Name calling hurt.

But the Words went real deep.

That is when I first started to think about  going on a

permanent Sleep.

The Physical Abuse consisted of being pushed down a Dozen

Stairs A Toe Broken by a Mallet Spat on  Having My Hair pulled

Punched Poked and Prodded and Dead Legs

I was given so many Dead Legs that I virtually had a permanent

Limp.

I should of fought back but I am such a Fucking Wimp.

The Sexual Abuse was being tied to a Tree.

Having My Pants pulled down.

And then I was Urinated and Ejaculated upon.

Then I was forced to do some nasty Acts.

But I am telling You.

It was never Consesual

I was the innocent Victim

I committed no Crime.

So why am I hear writing this last Letter?

I didn’t do anything wrong.

But I carry around a lot of Mental Scars.

I try to forget the past but I cant

Why am I so weak?

Why cant I be strong?

My Pen is writing these Words.

Letter by letter they fill the Page.

But as the Words form a Sentence and then a Paragraph

I am filled with a silent Rage.

I should have said a gentle Rage.

Because I am Timid I wouldn’t hurt a Fly.

But when I think of all the Crap I went through.

I only have one question.

Why?

Why was I so mistreated?

Why was I treated like a Dog?

No.A Dog would of been treated better.

That is one of the reasons why I am writing this Letter.

People say that you shouldn’t live in the past.

But that is where your memories take you.

You don’t know the future.

So your Brain goes in a backwards direction.

And dredges up things that are best forgotten.

And I remember why My Life is so Fucking Rotten

But enough of the Bad thoughts.

Lets talk about Death.

I think about it all of the time.

Every Second that I am Alive.

I wish that I was Dead.

The dark thoughts have been with Me for Years.

And are constantly fed.

From an early age Alcohol was My only Friend.

I couldn’t understand was I wasn’t more popular.

It was like I had an ugly Birthmark all over My Face.

So I Drank and Drank to go to a happier place.

I tried to be friendly.

But I was always pushed aside like a piece of Garbage.

I tried to keep a Smile on My Face.

But it was only a thin Veneer.

That is when I started to think

Lets end it all right here.

But I was weak and Spineless

A piece of Shit would be tougher then Me.

I know that My Pretty Boy Face.

Didn’t do Me any favours.

I was always Bruised Bloodied and Sore.

So at Fourteen I started to think.

Why am I even Alive anymore?

Over the Years People have told Me to Fight back.

But you are who you are.

You cant suddenly be a different Person.

You know a Leopard cant change its Spots.

And I have been good at connecting the dots.

I have never been a good connector.

I always end up by Myself.

I am like an old can of Baked Beans.

Picked up then put back on the shelf.

But enough of all the talking.

It is now time for action.

So I go to the Kitchen and open the Cutlery Drawer.

And a Carving Knife holds a Fatal attraction.

But before I put the Knife through its paces.

I close My Eyes.

And I say goodbye to my Family and Friends

I shouldn’t say Friends

Because I haven’t really  got any.

They are all to busy living their Lives

With their Wives or Girlfriends.

They don’t need or want to hang with Me.

But I understand because I am bad company.

I look out of the Kitchen Window.

And the Rain is pouring down.

Black Clouds fill the Sky.

A Black Cloud has been with Me My whole Life.

And a Black Cloud will be with Me when I Die.

I grab hold of the Knife.

And I stand naked in front of the Mirror.

And I proceed to open up My face.

Right down to the Bone.

Good I hate My fucking Face.

It is good to see it gone.

I just stand there watching My Blood flow away.

And after about Five Minutes I start to wobble

and sway.

The last thing I remember

Is Myself laying on the Floor.

And thinking.

FUCK OFF PEOPLE GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY.

That’s it.

My Life is finally over.

I have nothing else to say.

THE END

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can reach my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

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