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Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Hi all,

I have found throughout the course of my life that writing has been a constant companion to me. It has provided me with a way to vent my frustrations, to grapple with the eternal verities of life that confound and delight me, to explore ideas and concepts, and to try to put into words the often chaotic moods and thoughts that result from having a mind that's a little bit odd...

I have written lots of poems, especially in the last 3 or 4 years, dealing with depression and bipolar. They help me to process and understand some of the things that are happening in this twisted little noodle of mine. As such, writing has become one of my main forms of therapy.

One of the best things that I find about writing is that it can act as a kind of mood diary. I can read things that I had previously written, and it will quite often map out where I was at during the time of writing. The words I spread across the page act as signposts of my progress, too. As my self knowledge increases and my life journey progresses, I find that it affects how I write and what I write...

Often, we do not see the thousands of tiny little changes to our selves that our life experiences cause over the years. It can be very helpful to re-read old writings, in order to see how far we have come, what we have improved, where we have fallen back into old harmful habits, and the things that we have learned.

The language that we use in our writings and in our thoughts and in our speech is very important. It can reveal a lot about our selves, our states of mind, and our moods...

That language, it can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I believe that we attract certain kinds of people around us, and create (or at least influence) life situations based on our choice of language. It helps define who we are as a person.

Negative thinking, self-deprecation, self-hatred, these sorts of dangerous life traps are often revealed in our choice of words. So too are the positive things. It all starts with a glass. How we describe the glass and the quantity and quality of its contents, that's where language comes into it, and it can shape our very lives and the lives of those around us.

Writing... it is my solace and my main tool of self-analysis. It is my favourite form of therapy...

2932 replies

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In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

9 short weeks I called you mine

But sadly it was not your time

You grew your angel wings too so

I will love you always angel number 10

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Moment

The boundaries unclear,

not made of lines,

but feelings and instincts.

Oh dimensional spaces ,

which words

to listen to?

The tango of attraction,

the dualities wide

with undulations.

This push and pull,

this name in

the sand.

Now is the time

when all things

happen.

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

We reach out,

heart, mind and soul,

with creativity,

and with sorrow.

We walk

side by side

without a body

between us.

Recognition, the spark

of compassion,

and understanding

of spirit journeys.

How much we

know each other,

measured in pieces,

as in life.

This dream we

make together

sees us through

the lonely times.

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Paper people

Easily thrown away

You write your story

On our heart

You know how

To tear us apart

Once your done

You move to another page

But paper people

Feel the loss

Paper people

Dont count the cost

Paper people

Can't be uses over and over

Pages become worn

Pages become torn

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

I am really freaking annoyed at the situation I'm waking up too everyday! I have great amounts of animosity toward the big picture of society for allowing this too happen to me. I question and doubt what the mental health system is doing to me... I honestly think they don't really know what they're messing with (but they mess with me anyway)... Every time I have a revelation and epiphany of truth, I'm really quite shocked, strict down and horrified about what is being revealed to myself - bye myself. Because it is literally like a nightmare, it is literally like a sentence of torture, and nobody really cares! Because there is nothing in it for themselves! In all honesty! I'm very bitter, twisted, angry, spiteful and full of hatred! It's very unnatural! And it's not happening for no reason! I didn't just wake up one day and feel this way! It's a direct result of dealing with the big picture of society! And I'm very tired of having to deal with it...

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

For as much justice, right and good they think they are doing... There is just as much injustice, wrong and bad being committed... And they are literally that far down the path of denial... They'll probably never ever know any better... And it's shameful...

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Night and Day

From a dark

unconsciousness,

the miracle

of waking.

From tossing

and turning

to sunlight

and walking.

A jaunt of a

bus ride,

up hill, into

valley.

A simple

back yard

overseen by

high clouds.

Then media

screening to

fill up the

evening.

And soon to

return to the

that blackly

lit dreaming.

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Another sudden awakening, another bout with the demons within, another victory for my soul.

The rain comes down, as if it were a sign from the heavens, about the fruitful season to come.

I'm not lost, I'm not alone, I'm simply yearning to go home, to be at peace once more, to see the light of day.

So many times, I've been here before, the gore of my mind, and the games my mind plays.

It is a sweet full and bliss feeling, too be so close, yet to be so far away, the vision of my day is in disarray.

The ticking click, let's me know, that time has not stopped, the lamps light, soothes my weary soul.

With my feet up on the coffee table, and my mind now at rest, I can take a sigh of relief, and see clearly.

The dark morning is mine, I do not care about time, nor do I fret about the day ahead.

I have been blessed.

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

I particularly like the description;
'the gore of my mind'
Thanks for sharing that
eudemonism 🙂

In response to: Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

It's very clear to me what this poem is about Mazarita which I love because I don't care to wade through too many metaphors in order to apreciate a piece of work. I adore the last line especially, even though it saddens me.
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