September 29, 2023

Wails of a Mental Recluse resonate from an Imprisoned Mind

The End Result of the Wailing of an Imprisoned Mind

The wails of a mental recluse resonate from an imprisoned mind for a time, when a previously undiagnosed lifelong health issue suddenly rises up to confront the author in unexpected ways.

Read on to see for yourself how the power of the written word within this poetic creation was able to examine and transform a seeming disability into a future of endless possibilities.

…A Mental Recluse?

The months of a year have slipped away, awash in sheer ambivalence. Lost in a mental rapport anchored hard to mere indifference. Endlessly quoting this question below, to myself in hopes of gleaning a glimmer of sun, a burst of light, to decipher again its meaning.

And I quote…

“So poetry’s an excuse

To avoid reality;

Become a mental recluse

In complete totality?”

Thirty years and some ago, I wrote those lines of verse, Which questioned man’s affinity towards this mental curse. Now today I sit in vaporous fogs, amid clouds of dulling air; Wondering if I’ll ever figure out, how I got to here from there.

It began with a diagnosis of ADHD and the medications to direct its force, To correct an imbalance of brain chemicals, whose lack affected my course. They empowered my brain into vivid delight, with scenarios of splendid thought; While working in background to deprive myself, with side effects unsought.

Soon a battle erupted, the first rounds of fire, directed towards a decision; as to which was better – clarity of mind, or a body awash with derision? Though that battle was won the war was not, as my clarity fled with a vengeance; From a mind soon adrift on a sea of smoke, where there seems no way of emergence.

Notwithstanding all of my leanings upon the foghorns of sheer distress, Nothing seems able to dispel the paths, of my minds’ so notable regress. Now along with these regressions, there exists only moments of time; In which to try and verbalize my ramblings in verses of rhyme.

No other goals loom in existence, nor desires to accomplish their end. My mind only mired in unyielding stone which precludes its ability to bend. No great visions overflowing with promise, no drive to make them appear. Only the soft strands of a continuous fog, lulling my desire to hear.

My old coping skills have taken a turn, but I’m not sure what direction they went. But I can tell you now they’ve not arrived, in the place to which I thought they were sent.

And all the while I’m looking for them, while rooting in the warrens of mind; I find myself wondering if they’ve deserted my ken, and I’ll never again see their kind.

Its normal they say to question, to wonder and to ask till you know. To beat all the bushes which can hide the truths that you need to soften each blow. If that’s the case then my struggling, becomes merely another case in point, Leading me on to that final course when I blow this Popsicle joint.

Though the last summary of verse is lacking, its end ambiguous and down; It speaks to the lack of vision, in a mind most often locked in a frown. Questioning of its very existence, in a body caught in the curse, of becoming a mental recluse or, not knowing which could be worse.

I state my status in harsh verses of rhyme, which leave nothing to dilute their sting; As I hobble along feeling crippled in mind, on the prayer of a broken wing. Even through functions of a daily life which continue as smooth as before, I’ve lost that mind which could think and plan, or dream from the tales of yore.

Imprisoned in mists of ambivalence, indifferent to the drives of my worth. My mind wanders on in each moment of time, deprived of its will to give birth. Birth to those dreams of a yesterday, or of visions for the days yet to come. It falters and wonders at its emptiness, and rebels at what makes it feel numb.

Willpower alone cannot overcome the stuttering bursts of a mind, So mired in vapors which deny the light to its coils no longer aligned. Which begs the question raising overall, what can be done to imbue? To bring back to life a halting mind that craves to refresh and renew?

It still knows at least in principle, its abilities to stretch the bounds; Of a universe wide and willing to teach, if only to again hear its sounds. It fumes and it frets in micro bursts, which last but for seconds in length; And rails at the desires it used to know, now drooping and lacking in strength.

It wants to rise from the ashes, to turn its failings into achievements so grand. To envision with joy a resurrection, and to know again where it stands. It longs to reach out and harness the inescapable laws which govern, Success and achievement, and it aches to feel, the strength that comes from stubborn.

Alive only now in moments of clear, it always kicks me hard in my memories. Wishing it had the strengths of old, to lead me beyond my envies. And then it returns with a fleetness of thought, or more likely its very lack; To a state of numb grace which makes me wonder if I’ll ever see it come back.

Oh sure there’s the doctor to which you say I should run fast to reinstate, Those crazy meds whose very lack has caused these problems of late. I wonder though if it’s worth the cost, to both my body and mind. I doubt I’ll go unless there’s a chance of relief of a different kind.

So the bottom line it seems at this time, is to do a little more digging; Into the options that can heal a mind, without more chemical rigging. If talking can do it I’ll be grateful to converse to a counselor of qualified skill, Who can reach inside to the ties that bind my mind to my human Will.

May-hap it will be this writing that will trip the switches to ‘On’; By using reverse psychology, to dispel the fog till it’s gone. Perhaps these words living dormant, yet craving to exit my mind; Can turn it around and release it, into freedoms of a newer kind.

Hope is a spring eternal, with no boundaries known to Man. To drink from this well is known to provide relieving shouts of “Yes, I Can!” So perhaps in review it now appears that the wails of a mental recluse, Are but the first signs of a stirring life, adjusting and changing to “No excuse!”

If this is true and so the evidence points, then all else will surely show, That action itself is the catalyst, that causes the winds of change to blow. Blow to dispel and blow to lift, blow to dissolve the fogs and mist. Blow once again as prevailing winds, causing all else to cease and desist.

The power of words is a known healer of ills, of many and varied a kind. It seems I needed to know that again, to begin a new healing of mind. A reminder of sorts and a harbinger too, of futures as yet untapped. I can see how this will be challenging, as my layers of mist are unwrapped.

I’ve decided now as I write these lines that I’ll take all the help I can get. I’ll ferret it out and demand what I will, to help the healing just beginning to set. I’ll cast off the chains and the shackles, to release all the strains of their kind; And look forward in hopeful vision, to each step of my unfettered mind.

The wails of a mental recluse resonate from an imprisoned mind for only as long as we allow them to, as this literary journey of self-discovery was so aptly able to describe.

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