Taken from 'MENTAL HEALTH: A collection of poetry, short prose, interviews and personal stories from around the world on the themes of mental health.' CLICK HERE for further details and to order a copy.

iOCD

By Pip McDonald

The thought of contamination pulsates through my mind, 

Perhaps this is compulsion by design, 

The unwanted thoughts are like a persistent agitator, 

If I don’t clean now there’ll be more work to do later, 

There is never any peace with the OCD theatre and being onstage, 

It is an obsessive performance trapped in a cage. 

When will these thoughts ever cease? 

The music of this condition is like a song that plays on repeat, 

Perhaps I need to explore exposure, 

In order to find some closure, 

I hope that radical thinking will help me overcome this rift, 

Perhaps my OCD is really a gift. 

ABOUT THE POEM: "I have battled with OCD in various forms throughout my life. Poetry allows me to share my lived experience of managing (and not managing) the condition."

ABOUT PIP: Based in England, Pip is an experimental performance poet. She is currently working on her first book, and has published original poems in a range of poetry anthologies and online magazines.

Instagram: @pipmac6

Twitter (X): @pipmac6

DOING THE DIRTY LAUNDRY

By Lisa Anderson

I brought him down

to wash away

every memory of him

In a basket is where he is

I throw every memory

of him into the

machine

I close the lid it

begins to fill

it starts to spin

Soak, rinse, churn,repeat

I try to cleanse him

from me with 

the detergent

to erase him from me

forever

Washer done

I throw him into the 

intense heat 

of the Dryer

I am almost done 

with him

Alarm goes off 

the dryer is done

I did my dirty laundry

I rid myself 

of him

in my memory

I fold with a

sense of peace

the clothes are

crisp and clean

One sock missing of course

ABOUT LISA: Lisa has belonged to two amazing writing groups for over five years. She feels that it is through her mental illness that she has found her writing voice. She has had her work in three anthologies, as well as, published her first book, a collection of haikus and poetry. She lives in Alberta, Canada.



I THINK I NEED TO GET HELP

By Cristín Mann

Our eyes meet and he nods.

I am at the kitchen table, head in hands.

He has just returned with our daughter,

asleep in his arms.

He followed on later, I travelled alone.

I could not stay there any longer.

I considered swerving into the oncoming traffic, but I didn’t,

Because of the little girl in the patent blue shoes.

They decided to go boating. I stayed behind, 

Nursing my shame in the dark.

Jealousy foamed at the brutal unfairness,

Their heedless good fortune, our chasm of loss.

We were given the single room.

Just space for a small double and a cot.

The families took the family rooms, of course.

We split the bill.

Just the one then?’ they’d asked, the evening before.

‘Lucky you! My three are always at war!’

‘Yes, one little girl’, talon clawed at my throat, 

Silent shriek burning holes in my stomach.

I finally managed to leave the bathroom,

To make my way down the stairs,

I tried to sneak past the kitchen, but they saw me and pounced,

‘Where’ve you been?’

My face burned.

Cousins laugh in the sun, Aunts and Uncles look on.

Trapped in the Airbnb bathroom, I scrub my teeth hard.

Their laughter pierces my flesh, charred insides exposed.

Entrails for greedy, chattering crows to pick over.

I think I need to get help.

ABOUT THE POEM: "This one was about the moment at a friend’s 40th birthday weekend when I realised that I was not ‘OK’."

ABOUT CRISTIN: Cristin is a poet based in Lismore, Co. Waterford, Republic of Ireland. She began writing in 2012, after a period of intense personal trauma, which culminated in a breakdown. She initially used writing as therapy - a way of getting the bile and fears out of her head and gaining perspective on and ultimately some control over her thoughts and reactions.

KNOWING

By Katherine Brownlie

Nothing has changed

but everything is different

connaissance whispering

can unfold all that has

gone before

and although I acted as

though I knew

to hear those words out loud

defining and forming the

new reality

which can never be typical

it saddens me to the depths

and feels for you

for all those misunderstandings

and reasons why which

never were yours

I saw through my eyes

but yours I cannot now tell

I am unsure to pry

the paradigm shift

is the more odd as

the content of the world

appears to be familiar

as realisation falls

like leaves raining down

a contrite abscission

tipping and rolling

melting to the ground

revealing the bare truth

where life just carries on

imperfectly.

ABOUT KATHERINE: Katherine is a British poet currently living in France. Her poetry is concerned with human, other species and environmental inter- connectivity. The social and cultural pressures which affect us all means that we are constantly under subliminal attack. However, this poem speaks with the imperfect voice of an empath, and forms a path to an awakening of sorts.

A SONNET FOR LEON

By Siobhan Brownlie

I hardly know you Leon but I care

For we are linked by indirect blood

We both nourish a family leaf bud

So with these brief lines I will share

My thoughts on mute despair

When through a torrential flood

And left gasping on putrid mud

The mind is in an unbearable tear

Yet in yourself secretes a weapon

That can bolster sustain completely

Unsuspected ventures will beckon

Ridding yourself of dank history

Leon it’s the moment to step in

To grasp youth’s force and foresee

ABOUT THE POEM: "This poem is addressed to my son’s half-brother Leon, who suffers from PTSD."

ABOUT SIOBHAN: Siobhan is a writer who is originally from New Zealand, and who lives in Le Mans, France. She is currently working on a collection of poems that covers experiences and history from her life span.

AT DEATH’S DOOR

By Holly Dowds

You were a stagehand full of strife,

trying to cue all the lines of my life.

Your black scythe beckoned me to suicide.

All my strength used; I followed my own guide.

All those years, all those tears, how could I forget

the decades spent resisting your net?

But now you have no choice but to succumb,

because I have won. Forever I have won.

That’s why I’m dancin’ and prancin’ at Death’s door,

‘cause I’m not afraid of you no more, no more.

You used my chemistry, my own story,

to support your supposed glory.

But you will not get me, not by my own hand.

I’ve taken my life back. I am in command.

That’s why I’m dancin’ and prancin’ at Death’s door,

‘cause I’m not afraid of you no more, no more.

ABOUT THE POEM: "This poem celebrates my victory over severe depression, which led me to consider suicide."

ABOUT HOLLY: Holly is a survivor of both acute depressions and a psychotic break. She credits the act of poetry writing as part of her cure. She has been published in a half-dozen literary magazines and co-authored two books.

THE WALL

By Miroslava Panayotova

Everything is so common and simple!

You only need to close your eyes

and forget your dreams,

put out the lights under your eyelids.

You have to forget the music,

the greenery in the rain,

the rain splash and the cold,

which tells you that you are still

what you are.

You have to close your eyes and smile,

smile at the rain, which is no longer rain,

smile at the grass, which is not grass,

smile at the smile that isn’t a smile anymore.

The lamps go out into pre-morning twilight.

The street is scary, I’m afraid of the street.

The good is well chewed and weighed,

with a price tag!

Look, on the other side

they sell the good more expensive!

The wall is waiting for you,

the deaf wall is waiting for you.

Will you catch the fog,

will you catch the lie, long and nasty,

well oiled,

with interposed teeth?

White bouquets?

I’ll overwhelm you with them.

I stripped the trees,

I picked chestnuts,

I will shave my head

and will cover it with chestnuts

to have brown hair which I have without it!

I will drink water

from the fountain in the garden

but before I take a sip,

I’ll stop for a while

to hear the gush and grasp the meaning

of the coming sip

and the green leaves above me,

forming a broad-brimmed hat.

In the evening that comes,

I’ll look at the branches until I get frozen

and call the dog - just to see it.

ABOUT THE POEM: "This poem was written in the '70s. I had experienced personal disappointments and was very close to depression. Fortunately, this period has passed, but even now, because I am very sensitive, I guard against negative emotions."

ABOUT MIROSLAVA: Miroslava graduated from Plovdiv University, speciality Bulgarian philology and English language.

STILL I FALL

By Rachel M. Clark

Each morning is a resurrection—

pulling myself from the quicksand

that has refilled the hole inside.

Some days I can get all the way out

and walk about freely—

passersby would never guess.

Other days I get as far as my elbows

and brace myself on the edge,

breathing like a stranded fish,

gills working furiously.

There are those who say this ritual 

will soften with time-discipline-love.

Perhaps they are right—

they do not speak from empyrean heights,

but their chorus stands in a major key

and mine is pitched in the relative minor.

I am an apostle of melancholy

returning home each night

from the breezy-sunny-lighter perches

to the dark, close caverns of despair.

ABOUT THE POEM "This poem is an ironic salute to 'Still I Rise' by Maya Angelou, in which the poet is struggling to be “up” while her nature and nurture pull her down."

ABOUT RACHEL: Rachel received a BA in Drama, and an MDiv from San Francisco Theological Seminary. She directed educational programs in several churches, and worked as an actor and acting teacher.

I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW

By Judy DeCroce

You never feared shadows or,

spoke of falling days

cold, iced over.

The wind turned...turns.

It was morning or dusk...

when you walked past the moment 

that was the center of your life.

Now, clouds mesh and

snow hills your shoulders.

Something has darkened.

You see it there

closer...

an ending,

and approach.

ABOUT JUDY: Judy is an internationally published poet, flash fiction writer, and professional storyteller and teacher of that genre.

CHOICES

By Molly Forrester

The cracks in the foundation started long ago,

Choices made, as nurturing fades, and slowly turns to stone.

A wall built up over time,

Confusion abounds, because I thought you were mine.

Witnessing you leaving,

I asked myself and God, please tell me something worth believing.

The cracks deepened,

My troubled heart had no fight left, and the unloving seeped in.

Did you turn your back because of something I did, or something I am?

This can’t be the universe’s master plan.

Followed your lead and turned my back as well,

If you hate me then I’ll hate me too, and I’ll do it really well.

I learned about wanting, what a futile exercise,

The cracks became wide, as fear and anger intertwined.

Yearning quietly for what was supposed to belong to me,

But by your choices, we were hopelessly unfree.

Be my safety, I pleaded endlessly,

But a turned back could neither give nor receive.

ABOUT THE POEM: "This poem discusses childhood neglect, abandonment, and the revolving door of a drug-addicted parent."