Art, Life, Reach Out, Uncategorized

CIVIL WAR 2: My Mental Health and Me 

In a little tucked away part of the book shop, hidden deep with it’s own brandish title, swashbuckling heroics await. 

While the forefront is the yellowing threads of yet another book shelf, another brick in the wall; what lies behind is deeper. The imaginative spectrum dips and dives and slides through the system, creating a twisted tale of death, destruction and the end of days. Welcome to tomorrow. Universes are dying, our heroes have failed and here I can clamouring away for the next chapter.

Then the heroes win and the world is safe. 

The end, right?

Now that’s it. The end. Everything for nothing. You’ve wasted your time to get back to where you started. Aren’t you a fool for reading the same book again and again, to expect a different outcome? Quite don’t tell anyone you’re still reading!! 

Usually that’s when I leave the book shop and step away from my head.

On fave value; I’m a happy person. Today I past first year college, saw Cork City beat Dundalk and stepped up in my journalistic career. My mother says “I won the treble!” My Nan says “you’re then person you wanted to be!”

In turth, in the bare boned honesty: behind doors and looking in the truth is in the bookshop.

Like comics, it’s another issue another event. I’d give anything to stay busy, stay in projects. Working two jobs. Volunteering with St. John’s. Writing. College. Comics. Football. Never a moment to think to dwell but in the next big thing, keep the momentum going. 

And like the great bust of the comics industry in the 90’s; things fall apart before me. Sitting on thought I realised who I am: an arrogant, ungrateful, stupid, wannabe, pity case; the embodiment of shit. An excuse of a person.

From waking up to feeling nothing and wishing sleep had swallowed you, even the massive highs. Bouts of happy, sad, and the blurred lines between. 

I’d be left hitting walls, wanting to get stuck on myself. I once said that if I stood before myself I’d hit myself over and over. 

Through bouts of self hatred and apologising for existing  I carried myself through college; afraid to talk. Afraid to slip up and be an attention seeker; but to save everyone and to help anyone.

What I’m getting at here, isn’t about tags. One day I snapped and realised I needed help. So I went to my parents, broke down to my best friend about looking over my shoulder, embarrassed and red in the face booked a counselling apoinement.

In a nutshell; there isn’t a massive dramatic diagnosis. There isn’t some big reveal. Words like anxiety where thrown out, but I  was told that I was on the verge of a breakdown and depression after. 

There are no tags. I am Dylan. A 20 year old comic book fan, Cork City fanatic who still thinks asking for the premiership scores is a good chat up line. 

What I’m getting at here, isn’t a big reveal, but when people say mental health; it’s not about tags. It’s not a tattooing Oxford English Dictionary definitions across our foreheads. 

Everyone has to deal with it. By tagging someone you’re taking away any individuality there. If something isn’t right (me not being able to sleep, avoiding food, hitting walls, constantly angry, tearing into myself at the littlest of think, afraid to talk without a G20 summit on what to say) say something. Go reach forward and talk.

No one is alone. No one is ever alone. My sister is in the next room, my parents asleep, my Granddad watching some movie and my Nan counting sheep. We’re a few of many. Everyone has a life a story. Sometimes we meet villains; or own Thanos and we need to team up with others to defeat them before they can their Infinity Gaunlet. 

Never tag or label. We’re all the same, all step in puddles, sample poor pastimes and dine at the wrong tables.

What’s important isn’t polarising each other or strapping on tags; but embracing what we are and talking.

Batman has Alfred. Spider Man has Wolverine. Superman has Martha. 

I may not be making a fool out of myself; but to get one person to talk, or to listen to someone out there, is a victory. Bigger than beating the Skrulls or stopping an inter deminsional incursion.

Sure, what harm?
(Disclaimer: Counselling so far has lifted the weight and helped **slowly** rebuild my sense of self worth and esteem; the right road. Thank you mother father, Emma, Dan, Rob for puttin up with this!!  

Standard
Art, Poetry

Tiny Wooden Pieces

Tiny Wooden Pieces

 

You never seem to notice me,

Not so much as a wave,

Perched right here, next to this tree,

Did you ever stop and think of all the people I had to save?

I’m more than just a piece of wood you know

Not just some little toy,

Just because I’ll never grow,

Doesn’t mean that I’m something for a little boy.

Once upon a time,

I was big and tall and brave!

Back when I was in my prime,

I was more than just some useless knave.

I have seen great buildings boiled and burned,

And never uttered so much as a word,

With only a few pennies earned

I was thrust back, amongst the herd.

I always did what I was told

To never mind and to always be kind

But next time you see me out in the cold,

Please ask, what is on my mind.

Standard