Anyone who has struggled with depression will recognize this, so trigger warning on depression. I wouldn't have wanted to read this years ago. By the way, all of this is a 10 minute read.
Truly heartbreaking! ๐ And hard for me to read. Powerful & (I suspect) helpful for anyone who needs to know s/he is not alone. I hope writing this was cathartic, my dear husband. If only my love could completely banish the sad memories ... ๐
It's a difficult read. We share the pattern, you and I, of difficult childhoods and years of self-directed coping/managing. I didn't realise until much later that I suffered from a form of PTSD, also generated around the hearth. So thank you for writing so openly and honestly. A weight is lifted when shared, for both parties, and your text in a strange way, made me feel proud of you and of myself. So thank you. You're a fine man and an excellent poet.
Yeah, it's nothing if not a funny world. Hated writing it, pretty much every minute but what are you going to do? I often think of my Mom who made art all the days of her life. She said her job was to make it and would shrivel up and die otherwise. She had very few opinions of her own art, other than saying, "Well, it's done." In a way, of course, I'm sorry that we share this but as you say a weight is lifted and that's worth a lot, so, thanks Jonathan.
You humble me with your arms out to anyone who has felt this kind of despair. And your strength in the face of it. And grateful that youโre here, sharing this. Because itโs a gift.
So though Iโm more emotional than Iโd expected to be (having previously read it, and - I thought - more prepared for it), Iโm a pupil now, learning what both my siblings have tried to convey - (and seeing the relentless energy of my husband as his means of controlling his own demons).
The poem itself is a beauty, Oresti, your heart, held by your Laurie, is too.
This is so amazing and powerful. The images are gripping but the truth of your words is what really holds me in place. I so relate to feeling like a released hostage when depression lifts. This has not been an easy time and writing like this reminds me Iโm not alone.
Now there's something, Stephen, to make me think it was worth it because I basically hated writing every minute of it. But now that it's done, well maybe I and you feel some small distance further from that misery.
Thanks Amy. Most of my posts dwell on the beauty in this world, something that has sustained me my whole life. That's how we roll, us trauma people, we go hard on anything that will lift us and we drop the other stuff.
I so appreciated reading your backstory and understanding your pain. I'm so grateful you are in my life here on substack. Thank you for your vulnerability and doing your best to shift old patterns so they don't continue. Appreciate how you've channeled your past into creating something good and solid for the future. (poetry, construction and good relationships) As we move through from the past to the present, may the old hurts be transformed into catharsis, deep mourning and new beginnings with each layer. You never deserved the pain you endured. may you stay open hearted as love pours in from this point forward.
Thanks Megan, I knew you'd know what's going on here. Perhaps a positive from all this is that I can speak to my sons about their depression and the difficult shit they have to deal with. I picked up Will from Tufts when he melted down in his third year. I've picked him up a few times. I hope you can be of service to him because it does take a village.
I do. I so do. One of the gifts I've found through all of it is that I have a level of compassion and understanding for the very real affects of living a painful reality. May it move us to more love.
I find the Voice of your poetry to be so clear and strong. How generous you are to keep sitting down, putting pen to paper, and letting that voice speak--especially when for so many long years it was kept silent. It sounds to me now, like a voice of deep compassion and perseverance. Keep fighting to let it speak, Wes. With your humble willingness to craft your poems, you are helping more people than you will ever know.
Thank you Ann. About 15 years ago I watched a special about a Jewish woman who was a twin and both had been experimented upon by a monster doctor in the camps. Although they both survived, her twin died early from complication from the experiments. The special was about her delivering forgiveness to the doctor. She said she wanted to move on with her life and relinquish the negative bond she had with her anger about all of it. The whole thing made me cry uncontrollably and I didn't know why. Not too much later I decided to forgive my brother and that helped somewhat. He will be leaving for Peru shortly and knowing that he is now on another continent and not returning gives me great pleasure. Thanks for reading, Ann
Wes, I know so many of us walk around with gallons of un-cried tears. Myself included. Those gallons of tears are very heavy, and we carry them day in and day out, whether we realize it or not.
When they finally come, the release of them can also reveal a deep well of peace. Thank goodness for films and music that lets us find our sorrows and let them go.
Whether we need to forgive someone else, or forgive ourselves for the wrongs that have been doneโand for things that we have left undone. Whatever the case, the energy spent carrying that sorrow and pain is freed up to use as we wish.
Iโm so glad that you use some of yours to write poetry that we all have come to love and respect.
What a day this has been. And to think I was actually dreading it. I put off posting this for several weeks because why, I don't even know. That gallons of un cried tears really got me. One of the sad parts of my childhood is how I still hate feeling emotion but there you have it. It is so foreign to me.
Little by little, we all walk this way together. We keep sitting down to the blank page of every new day just trying to tell a better story. Sending so much love to you and Laurie always! xo โค๏ธโค๏ธ
As a very young child I took up a pencil and wrote my first novel. I was four years old. it was a silent way to scream what I wanted, no, what I needed everyone who loved me to know. Every telling lightens the burden. What you have written is healthy, brave, and the beauty that you are is even more visible than before. Embraceย yourself. You are a wonderful man, who has the sensitivityย that every child isย born with. That sensitivity is valuable, and reads throughout your work. You are the man who loves a Ponderosa, and with your words, made me cryย with a deep seated joy when I realized I was not alone, when I findย myself grieving the loss of my childhood Sycamores to butchery.
If you ever find yourself needing a friend to help withย a time ofย sorrow, and pain ,ย I am here.ย ย
Our depressions are different, Wes, but the potential end results can often be the same unless we find a way through. Iโm so happy you didโand I am glad you found a way through it all to write everything Iโve read of yours, thus far, including this piece.
As a suicide survivor I am shaking from reading your observations of me, I mean, of course your journey.
I chose alcohol as my primary medication; now at 75, 6 years sober, still wrestling with depression, sometimes earth shaking, I wonder how no one heard my silent cries for relief.
I will always be grateful I stumbled across your post.
Well, I hope one day we can meet and laugh death in the face together. Let's keep on yakking. That one time when I was hitching and I really saw no other way out so I picked out a pick up and I had the timing worked out but damn if he didn't slow down and pick me up. He took me home, gave me a meal, I stayed two nights. A very decent man who said he could tell from 500 hundred feet away that I was a down man, "so down I couldn't sell pussy on a troop train."
Those were his words and I will never forget them. He told me I can't let myself get that low down. Believe it or not, those simple ass words just stuck. What a world.
Truly heartbreaking! ๐ And hard for me to read. Powerful & (I suspect) helpful for anyone who needs to know s/he is not alone. I hope writing this was cathartic, my dear husband. If only my love could completely banish the sad memories ... ๐
Thank you sweetie. It's hard all around but if you want growth and to put some of this behind I guess these things are needed.
Thank you, Wes.
It's a difficult read. We share the pattern, you and I, of difficult childhoods and years of self-directed coping/managing. I didn't realise until much later that I suffered from a form of PTSD, also generated around the hearth. So thank you for writing so openly and honestly. A weight is lifted when shared, for both parties, and your text in a strange way, made me feel proud of you and of myself. So thank you. You're a fine man and an excellent poet.
Funny world eh.
Yeah, it's nothing if not a funny world. Hated writing it, pretty much every minute but what are you going to do? I often think of my Mom who made art all the days of her life. She said her job was to make it and would shrivel up and die otherwise. She had very few opinions of her own art, other than saying, "Well, it's done." In a way, of course, I'm sorry that we share this but as you say a weight is lifted and that's worth a lot, so, thanks Jonathan.
You humble me with your arms out to anyone who has felt this kind of despair. And your strength in the face of it. And grateful that youโre here, sharing this. Because itโs a gift.
So though Iโm more emotional than Iโd expected to be (having previously read it, and - I thought - more prepared for it), Iโm a pupil now, learning what both my siblings have tried to convey - (and seeing the relentless energy of my husband as his means of controlling his own demons).
The poem itself is a beauty, Oresti, your heart, held by your Laurie, is too.
ฮฯ ฯฮฑฯฮนฯฯฯ, for all you have done for me. O
Ditto. For reminding me of more than you even know..
This is so amazing and powerful. The images are gripping but the truth of your words is what really holds me in place. I so relate to feeling like a released hostage when depression lifts. This has not been an easy time and writing like this reminds me Iโm not alone.
Thanks LeeAnn and I am glad, in a way, not that we share this burden but that we CAN share this burden.
Absolutely
Absolutely!
Thank you for sharing Wes. I experienced both pain and hope while reading. Your words are a gift to all who listen.
Now there's something, Stephen, to make me think it was worth it because I basically hated writing every minute of it. But now that it's done, well maybe I and you feel some small distance further from that misery.
Beautiful you r a very sensitive man it appears from your beautiful poetry
Thank you very much Hazel.
โI decided years ago to be a man of service.โ Yes. Therein lies the key. Very powerful, Wes. Thank you.
and thank you, I always appreciate you reading this stuff.
Very brave poetry Wes! Difficult & touching. Most of us have felt some part of what you wroteโฆ. glad you are loved and writing your humanity.
Thanks Amy. Most of my posts dwell on the beauty in this world, something that has sustained me my whole life. That's how we roll, us trauma people, we go hard on anything that will lift us and we drop the other stuff.
I so appreciated reading your backstory and understanding your pain. I'm so grateful you are in my life here on substack. Thank you for your vulnerability and doing your best to shift old patterns so they don't continue. Appreciate how you've channeled your past into creating something good and solid for the future. (poetry, construction and good relationships) As we move through from the past to the present, may the old hurts be transformed into catharsis, deep mourning and new beginnings with each layer. You never deserved the pain you endured. may you stay open hearted as love pours in from this point forward.
Thanks Megan, I knew you'd know what's going on here. Perhaps a positive from all this is that I can speak to my sons about their depression and the difficult shit they have to deal with. I picked up Will from Tufts when he melted down in his third year. I've picked him up a few times. I hope you can be of service to him because it does take a village.
I do. I so do. One of the gifts I've found through all of it is that I have a level of compassion and understanding for the very real affects of living a painful reality. May it move us to more love.
I find the Voice of your poetry to be so clear and strong. How generous you are to keep sitting down, putting pen to paper, and letting that voice speak--especially when for so many long years it was kept silent. It sounds to me now, like a voice of deep compassion and perseverance. Keep fighting to let it speak, Wes. With your humble willingness to craft your poems, you are helping more people than you will ever know.
Thank you Ann. About 15 years ago I watched a special about a Jewish woman who was a twin and both had been experimented upon by a monster doctor in the camps. Although they both survived, her twin died early from complication from the experiments. The special was about her delivering forgiveness to the doctor. She said she wanted to move on with her life and relinquish the negative bond she had with her anger about all of it. The whole thing made me cry uncontrollably and I didn't know why. Not too much later I decided to forgive my brother and that helped somewhat. He will be leaving for Peru shortly and knowing that he is now on another continent and not returning gives me great pleasure. Thanks for reading, Ann
Thatโs a powerful story.
Wes, I know so many of us walk around with gallons of un-cried tears. Myself included. Those gallons of tears are very heavy, and we carry them day in and day out, whether we realize it or not.
When they finally come, the release of them can also reveal a deep well of peace. Thank goodness for films and music that lets us find our sorrows and let them go.
Whether we need to forgive someone else, or forgive ourselves for the wrongs that have been doneโand for things that we have left undone. Whatever the case, the energy spent carrying that sorrow and pain is freed up to use as we wish.
Iโm so glad that you use some of yours to write poetry that we all have come to love and respect.
What a day this has been. And to think I was actually dreading it. I put off posting this for several weeks because why, I don't even know. That gallons of un cried tears really got me. One of the sad parts of my childhood is how I still hate feeling emotion but there you have it. It is so foreign to me.
Little by little, we all walk this way together. We keep sitting down to the blank page of every new day just trying to tell a better story. Sending so much love to you and Laurie always! xo โค๏ธโค๏ธ
So great and thanks for all that.
So, so familiar. Thatโs all I can say for the moment.
Thatโs good enough for me Cheryl.
As a very young child I took up a pencil and wrote my first novel. I was four years old. it was a silent way to scream what I wanted, no, what I needed everyone who loved me to know. Every telling lightens the burden. What you have written is healthy, brave, and the beauty that you are is even more visible than before. Embraceย yourself. You are a wonderful man, who has the sensitivityย that every child isย born with. That sensitivity is valuable, and reads throughout your work. You are the man who loves a Ponderosa, and with your words, made me cryย with a deep seated joy when I realized I was not alone, when I findย myself grieving the loss of my childhood Sycamores to butchery.
If you ever find yourself needing a friend to help withย a time ofย sorrow, and pain ,ย I am here.ย ย
I've been there too.ย
Well, now we have established a link and that fact alone made the misery of writing it worthwhile. Thanks Bliss.
Our depressions are different, Wes, but the potential end results can often be the same unless we find a way through. Iโm so happy you didโand I am glad you found a way through it all to write everything Iโve read of yours, thus far, including this piece.
I appreciate that Paul.
As a suicide survivor I am shaking from reading your observations of me, I mean, of course your journey.
I chose alcohol as my primary medication; now at 75, 6 years sober, still wrestling with depression, sometimes earth shaking, I wonder how no one heard my silent cries for relief.
I will always be grateful I stumbled across your post.
God bless you ๐
Well, I hope one day we can meet and laugh death in the face together. Let's keep on yakking. That one time when I was hitching and I really saw no other way out so I picked out a pick up and I had the timing worked out but damn if he didn't slow down and pick me up. He took me home, gave me a meal, I stayed two nights. A very decent man who said he could tell from 500 hundred feet away that I was a down man, "so down I couldn't sell pussy on a troop train."
Those were his words and I will never forget them. He told me I can't let myself get that low down. Believe it or not, those simple ass words just stuck. What a world.
โLet us instead look ahead..โ
Thank you, Wes. For every single word of this post.
You're welcome Kevin.
After waking up this morning in a dark place this was a gift. Thank you for your honesty and for the glimpse of hope that calls us forward.
Well Doug, I am glad that this helped. Boy, those of us scrabbling along the edge really do hang onto the glimpses of hope, don't we?
Scrabbling is a good word. Thanks, again.