We invite you to submit poetry or prose written by you the consumer, the family member, or the friend. Topics may or may not be about mental health or recovery. It’s up to you! This is a place for you to express yourself. Please submit to Christine Smith, NAMI-Western Carolina Executive Director, at cijp1860@yahoo.com. Use “Express Yourself” in your subject line. Please keep submissions to 300 words or less.
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TAKE A WALK!! By A. Mercer
Hobbies are life enhancing. From complex, expensive pursuits to mundane, inexpensive pastimes, they help us restore ourselves. They ‘rev’ us up and make life more interesting. And they’re fun to do.
Among the easiest and most beneficial hobbies is the simple act of walking, which requires only the physical ability and a little motivation. Walking is great exercise. It’s free. Done solo, it not only helps work out our kinks, but spurs creative thinking. Walking for a cause is a great way to get to know others who share your hopes and dreams for a better future.
In general, hobbies can help us cope with difficulties such as the death of loved ones, retirement, or a serious illness. Loss of interest in activities is a key component in assessing for depression, while returning to a former hobby or trying a new one usually signals improved health. Coping with life’s challenges is easier when we include activities we enjoy
Despite evident of these health benefits, even in good economic times, our results-driven society often gives short shrift to hobbies as we race to complete our ‘to do’ lists. The stress of holding onto or finding a job, meeting family and other obligations, and coping with threatened loss of needed services is accelerating in our tight economy. During these stressful times, it is important to express our humanity and create balance in our lives.
It’s easy – just put one foot in front of the other and MOVE IT.
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RESOLUTIONS – HUMBUG! By A. Mercer
Winter and the holiday season bring all sorts of things into focus – warmth and good cheer, reunions, presents and preparation, memories of holidays past.
Also the cold, shorter days, increased darkness, and memories of holidays past that maybe weren’t quite as “Norman Rockwell” as I’d have wished. Oh, well.
By the time all that’s over and, you’d think, done with, here comes the New Year and – Resolutions. Oh goody! Another chance to make promises, nay, declarations (!) to ourselves and whoever else is fool enough to listen. This year, we’re going to do it, whatever “it” is. “A new start with the new year.”
New Year’s Resolutions never gave me positive results. Instead, they became a very good way to set myself up for failure. Each year presented yet another way to fail at something new or something old, my choice.
Years of medication, therapy, and about 50,000 self-help books later, in recovery and trying my best to progress, I decided to try goal setting instead. Eventually, this worked much better.
A key was learning to set realistic goals, achievable within a reasonable time and figure out objectives (steps) to complete them. Being accountable to someone else or to myself in writing was important. It demanded that I perform or learn what went wrong and fix it. No shame or blame, but another chance to learn how to do better.
There’s a point in recovery when, having gained greater self-awareness, fear of success can become nearly as inhibiting as fear of failure. That’s when goal setting can really pay off. That’s when experience says, “Just keep at it, no matter how afraid or discouraged you are”. Beats New Year’s Resolutions every time!
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Poem by Sandy Goble
NINETEEN
Number Nineteen.
Curious.
It’s always the same.
Nineteen.
Would my new career have come
If not for nineteen?
Would the poems have flowed
If not for nineteen?
Could I have spoken for the voiceless
If not for nineteen?
Nineteen pills on the counter
Every night, he prescribes, I accept.
I take for granted.
Incredibly important.
Life reserving. Life preserving.
Necessary for concealment,
Sad to say.
Stigma waits
In most corners
It seems.
I am finally flying free.
I speak and write for the voiceless.
I am blessed by my louder voice.
No hesitation now.
No timidity now.
Time is short.
Only urgency.
Please help me, Lord.
As my body grows weak.
I still write.
Help them read.
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JUST NINETEEN.
New poems by S.K. Daw
Vignettes
Pirouetting
And dosy-doeing,
Cabbage butterflies,
Dance in the summer sun,
Their flighted mating done.
Resting, eating,
Concealed in plain sight,
Soft beryl-green loopers
Play hide-and-seek
Until their feasting’s done.
Bending, sweating,
Carefully tending,
Purpose-filled gardeners
Anticipate bounty
When the harvest is done.
Midnight Music
Katydids play on their rusty swing sets
Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…
Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…
One has settled on my bedroom window screen
Suddenly announcing its place
On the darkened playground
Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…
Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…
His metronomic tympani
Sets a soothing cadence
To a torpid midnight symphony
Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…
Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…
Their back-and-forths… back-and-forths…
Sync with the airs of tree frogs and crickets
Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…
Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…
Capturing my restless mind-beats
Still noisy from the day’s journeying
Enfolding them into gentle and persistent rhythm
Nudging them into sleep
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