Fear

Time has had enough of him,

his ailing mind, his failing heart,

his withered pained contracted limbs;

will time come for him tonight?

And what of him? 

The he that is him?  

What of him? 

Synapses ripped apart

all he only knows is fear. 

He is man come neonate,

mind dissolving with each passing hour;

returning to from wherence he came,

but to no comfort of the womb.

He is a tiny bird, mouth gapes

sensing every spoon

as if willing eternal life. 

And so he lives,

lives every hungry spoonful.

Yet with each

and every intervention

he dies a little more,

screams out in pain and fear

as mouth gapes

swallows each and every hungry spoonful

as if wiling time before.

He has no place here,

time has enough of him;

will it come for him tonight?

Anna :o]

The above words are of Ted, or maybe Theresa, who was a resident of ours.   Ted had end stage dementia yet hung onto life year upon year upon year.  He had no quality of life, all he had was fear.    And for him, I wanted him to die, so wanted him to die.

And this winter, he finally gave up.  RIP Dear Ted.

Linked to:  dVerse OLN    Thanks to all at the pub.

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author: Nobuddy

General Paresis of the Insane

Midst loss of hope and deep despair

he longs to find someone to care,

but much to his chagrin he finds

there is no one who’ll tarry there. 

There in that place of troubled minds

where troubled souls are thus confined

to languish in their discontent,

abandoned they and left behind

He, the poor cad the miscreant,

syphilis made mad, he then sent

to languish in that utter hell

in hope of sins he would repent.

He left alone in barren cell

with troubled thoughts on which to dwell,

he yearns to hear that tolling bell. 

He yearns to hear that tolling bell.

He yearns to hear that tolling bell.

Anna :o]

After reading Björn’s and Claudia’s (early) responses to Gay’s prompt (at dVerse) I set pen to paper, or more accurately fingers to keyboard and up popped the first stanza.  Then I got lost so searched Wiki for an image and the rest followed from there.

I have worked in mental health since the early nineties, did my training in a psychiatric hospital -–long since closed -–and when there, vowed I would never work in such a  place (strictly against my conscience).  Don’t get me wrong, as in staff, there were many good people there - but I just felt they were in the wrong job. 

There is a definite stigma attached to mental (ill)health, a certain belief that those who suffer from it are malingerers  and there are those who indeed abuse the system for an odd sort of gain

There were certain young folk -–especially of the male variety -–who would get themselves sectioned, feign mental illness to escape prison sentences.

It is estimated that one in four of us will suffer mental ill-health in our lifetime and for a long time I personally disputed this figure - that is until I suffered from it, albeit to a low degree.  During this difficult period (for me) I found that my colleagues - who of course work in mental health - couldn’t deal with it.

Mental (ill)health - you are very very alone.

As of my response to the prompt, I know there is an extra line - but it just felt right.

Link: General paresis of the insane

Image: courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Source: Web Gallery of Art: