Daily Prompt: Foggy

Empty planners are scattered across my room

I buy them in an attempt to remember things I need to get done but the key is remembering to write them down

A symptom of PTSD is memory issues

There are years clouded with smog dark enough to only let a few moments escape

A heart breaking in silence, knuckles to skin, going silent

Good years have a mist, moments slipping away to it yet many remain intact

There are years my existence was lost in all but photographs

I still walk around in a haze not sure where to put what memory

Unsure if this is all a dream or if I am actually here

via Daily Prompt: Foggy

Disability // A Prompt

I still try hiding my disability, it is not pretty enough or radical enough to be in the light

People watch my hands tremble as I struggle to complete mundane tasks

Feeling my frustration that my hands can’t move fast enough but theirs can

I don’t want it to be everything that I am, but as soon as someone knows, it’s all I am associated with

Questions cause embarrassment because now I know people notice

“Do you have a limp?”

“Why does your foot sometimes drag?”

“Are you ok, your hands are shaking?”

It has me in its hold and it will never go away

I was outlasted for it before the diagnosis and medication hiding the episodes

Do you understand yet?

How can I be proud of it when I was thrown away for not being perfect enough for my peers?

via Daily Prompt: Tether

The Bottles On My Nightstand // A Prompt

There is a glass I leave open

Full of each positive thought I’ve had in the last few years

Some months it numbers less than others

Lying there open for whomever needs happiness in a moment of despair

Next to it lies a jug filled with each emotion that is not happy or her synonyms

There have been moments where it has overflowed into the glass next to it

I try to cap it in attempts to let no one else but me see inside

A few horror movie scripts could be made of it

This jug’s counterpart is a bottle filled of the years I don’t talk about

You know, the ones I erased from my memory in hope every one did too

But I know they will stay with me past the grave

All the years I didn’t stop hurting, even when I thought there was no hurt left

The memories play here in a movie about my own suffering, still waiting to be finished because I know there will be more years of this despite the little room this bottle has left to fit them in

One more bottle sits, filled with the good times

Capped off so I don’t forget

Moments I couldn’t stop laughing until I cried

Days my face hurt from smiling so much

I know there will also be more of these

Keeping optimistic it will fill before the years of suffering, I keep a larger bottle for the good days ahead

via Daily Prompt: Bottle

Prompt

I am but a puzzle of a family of artists and a mentally ill family

I am created of puzzle pieces fitting together, a mosaic of sorts

Coping with mental health via creation

Documentation of storms inside my brain created on paper and canvas

Manic states more than depressive

Mania is filled with color and ideas shifting around trying not to overthrow each other

Depression only looks for the darkness

Either state has me fixate on dying

How afraid of it I am or how I welcome it with open arms

Creating and destroying keep my hands quiet in every moment my brain decides not to be

via Daily Prompt: Create