COMING OUT OF A DEPRESSION

By Dana Fasciano

And suddenly the sun rises,

how long 

it has been 

since you’ve seen it.

Years

of that desperate darkness

that pressed on you 

until your whole body

was numb, 

Until everything around you

looked gray and dirty 

and broken. 

When it rises,

it rises slowly,

gracefully,

tentatively. 

And suddenly you can see

color again.

Suddenly everything is dazzling:

the clearness of the sky,

or the sound of the rain falling

on the roof

like a million tiny fingers tapping

on a table. 

even the way that car head lights

twinkle and glow

like a holiday display. 

Let its warm light 

wash over your tired skin

Let it cradle you

gently

until you are fully alive,

until you are sturdy,

until suddenly 

you are

someone 

again. 

You try

to hold onto this,

the warmth,

the light,

the color,

and the memory

that it will always 

return. 

STUCK RECORD

By Anthony Ward

No sooner do I talk myself into something

I talk myself out of it again

Positives playing against each other

Until the negative attracts

Pulling me away from myself

So that I need to push harder

Heading into the gale of thoughts

As they try to keep me back

The indecisiveness a perpetual emotion

Ebbing back and forth like spring tides

And neap tides

At times overwhelming

At times serene

Both drifting and demented

By the fluctuations of my mind

The low tides like a stuck record

Keeping me in the same place

Interrupting the flow of my thoughts

Disturbing the serenity of the song.

SELF HARM

By Gabriela Sanderson

You do not need

the messiness of blood,

the sticky flowing of its iron smell

when sweet sugar is

colder than serrated blades,

than pins drawn

up and down your tender flesh,

your naked arms

punctured by needles.

You feed your hunger

fearsome fats

and stoke the silent music

of calories

with comfort food,

then escape mirrors

covered like

church images on Good Friday.

When the night kicks you

out of bed

into the eyelids of insomnia

and forgettable TV,

you forget that certain pills

do not collocate

with gin and tonic

or with white wine,

you follow

yawning lost sheep

until the morning

of bright daylight.

And you know

the kisses from the sun

are not French kisses

on your innocent skin,

but still dare it

like unprotected sex.

Girl, what have you done

to your body,

your beautiful body,

your temple

that was

that could be

that should be

once again

sacred?

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

By Rosie Turner

As I watch through the looking glass, The panic is real. 

I try screaming, crying and talking but it, just makes me feel unreal.

I try tapping, smashing, hitting, and punching, but the glass just seems to just grow thicker. 

I try moving, waving, and signing, to grab some attention.

But It just gets blurrier. 

I’m trapped inside the looking glass, and like a maze I can’t seem to find an escape.

Communication is not a option when I’m behind the looking glass, that blocks everything out of the way. 

It’s glass that cuts me off from the wires of my brain, 

I'm kept a prisoner, held hostage behind my eyes, I’m kept captive behind the looking glass in the back of my brain.

I’m sat confined in a separate space,

every moment feels so empty and far away.

Things don’t seem real when viewing from the looking glass.

And it never seems to go away.

I sit and watch in a gallery with a far-side view. 

A familiar abstract painting the world seems to be around me and you. 

So when you catch me watching through the looking glass, and wonder what I see,

It’s like a fuzzy cloud of a dream.

I have no control, or anywords to say, 

Because behind the looking glass, I can’t find my way. 

So watch out for the looking glass, see if you can notice any change. 

I look out of the looking glass and suddenly find my way, 

But the shards from the looking glass never seem to leave my brain.

ABOUT THE POEM: The poem is based on my personal experiences of dissociation, trauma, and living with Functional Neurological Disorder (FND). I wrote it to help people understand what these experiences can feel like from the inside, particularly when communication becomes difficult and the world feels distant or unreal. My hope is that the poem will help others who experience dissociation feel seen and understood, while also raising awareness among family members, carers, healthcare professionals, and the wider public. Just because a condition cannot always be seen on a scan or test, does not mean it is not real, and I am passionate about helping to increase understanding of invisible neurological conditions.

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