FORUMS

Connect with people who understand what you are going through, seek advice and surround yourself with support. We're free, anonymous, and professionally moderated 24/7.

  • 47,612Members
  • 1,358,869Posts
  • 1,400,000Visitors
Recovery Club

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

711 - 720 of 2,932

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Good morning @Silenus,
In your post mixer periods how do you find co-existing with others goes for you?
If you rather not say,other than poems I understand.
Trying to work a little out for myself..probably im feeling not so great of late.
Take care 😊..your poems are great.

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Poem - This and These

This and These

This fistful of muscles in my chest pumps life through my arteries and veins,
This curly grey-white blob in my head navigates abstract concepts and pains,
This intangible soul of mine yearns to believe that it exists and will live forever,
This iron will of mine sees me grit my teeth and never back down from any endeavour,
This weary gut has found its way to wisdom and folly in roughly equal measure.
These eyes have looked into Heaven and Hades, and all of the places in between,
These ears have heard joyous laughter and howling lamentation, noises good and noises mean,
These buds have tasted sweetest ambrosia and bitterest poison from the very same chalice,
These nostrils have smelled the delightful aromas of life and the pungent stench of death’s malice,
These drum-tight nerves have felt the agonising pain behind even the greatest pleasure.

This extreme life lived on the blee.ding edge,
This journey walked teetering on the narrow ledge,
This steepest tiring climb upon the steepest hill,
This soaring flying filled with untold pleasure and thrill,
This plummeting fall to the lowest of the low;

These blind and helpless questings, searching for some truth,
These epiphanous moments expressed in language so uncouth,
These realisations that life has no purpose but its own,
These precious delicate flowers from seeds lovingly sown,
These are the glorious and eternal purpose of my life’s ebb and flow.

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

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Thank you so much @Former-Member

You get a big warm hug and lots of happy vibes beaming your way... 🙂

Hmm... dealing with people is difficult after a mixed episode. Honestly... there is nothing that puts me through the ringer more than a bad mixer... I come out the other end rather worse for wear, but each time very glad to be alive...

It's so exhausting, when reality starts to jolt around, and your own thoughts and moods make no sense whatsoever... it is like a battleground, like the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan, with all the chaos and destruction, and the battleground is my head...

Warring thoughts... warring emotions... warring energy levels... all coexisting at once, mixed together into a mental stew that leaves me reeling...

Understandably, after a mixed episode, I am quite exhausted for a few days, up to about a week or so... at the same time, I have this great contemplative calmness... it really is the calm after the storm... (or perhaps the calm before the next storm? Hahaha...)

So, after a mixer, I tend to avoid people (but then that seems to be fairly standard behaviour for me these days - I seem to be becoming more and more introverted...)

I have my lovely partner... we are always together... we've travelled together on the road for 2 and a half odd years now, and have rarely been apart... and we still haven't gotten on each others' nerves too much... hahaha...

Other than her, I kind of take people in short bursts as and when I feel up to it...

Sometimes, when the mood strikes me, I can still awaken the party animal...

But I prefer deep and meaningful conversations or just shooting the breeze with a small group of friends...

@Former-Member - I hope you feel better soon. There are a whole bunch of us struggling at the moment... natural seasonal variations... world events... all of that kind of stuff really can throw one out of whack...

Huggles... 🙂

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

Poem - Tomorrow's Hue

I hope people don't mind me scattering these poems of mine here...

It's amazing - I can recall the exact mental state I was in when I wrote all of these... the thoughts, the emotions...

I read the poems, and it brings me back to look at it again, detached and interested at the same time...

This poem was written at a time when I was rapid cycling with my moods and energy levels... for a while there, I would wake up not knowing if I was going to be hypomanic or depressed, or some weird thing in-between (I think that might be what people call "normal")...

Tomorrow’s Hue

I wonder what hue I’ll be tomorrow,
A colour of joy or a shade of sorrow;
My life as surmised by mounds of paint,
The sooty red of sinner and the pearly white of saint.

In response to: Poem - Tomorrow's Hue

Poem - Ponder

This is another one of my favourite poems... I hope you enjoy it... huggles... 🙂

Ponder

I pondered my reflection
In the millpond waters
I offered genuflection
To all my sons and daughters
Merged and together
They looked reflectively back at me
Showing me crinkled leather
And the desire to be free

Another daughter another son
Racing each other down my cheeks
The tape is breasted the race is run
From me now this aqua vitae leaks

Falling through the empty space
Son and daughter keeping pace

Breaking through the surface tension
Creates a stir beyond mention

I ripple away for a while

In response to: Poem - Ponder

Poem - Blighted Hopes

This poem was inspired when my lovely partner and I were in a little dusty outback town called Silverton (I think)... it was where they shot the movie Mad Max 2...

My lovely partner and I went for a walk in the cemetery, looking at the grave stones and paying our respects...

One headstone stopped me in my tracks... the simple inscription struck at my heart with such a strength... I got goosebumps, and this poem popped into my head in an instant...

The simple inscription, written by her husband on the headstone...

"Blighted hopes"

Blighted Hopes
(For Annie, Died 1889, Age 29)

With blighted hopes we face the dawn
Half of us triumph, half of us mourn
Half of us whole, half of us torn
Half of us built up, half of us worn
Half of us dead, half of us born
Blightedly hoping for another morn.

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Thanks for sharing @Silenus..
It all makes a lot of sense to me.
Today I wish it would all pass by so I can wake up better tomorrow...but I've a young child so I'm forced to propel ahead.
I think you are right, alot of us are struggling of late and yes seasonal changes really throw me out.
Today is rain, ironically it was coming anyway inside my head...the rain...
I'd been great, not sleeping a great deal, much to my realisation as I now track it.
This has probably gone on a lot especially the last year and a half with another new child.
Babies do their best at throwing me out.
People talk of hibernation after births. I'm opposite all the adrenaline kicks in and I run on highs.
People marvel, wow your doing so well etc etc!
Sheesh...kind of silly really!
Well I wish I could achieve more but right now I've come to accept I'm just not.
I go on small tangents, then others treat me different and slowly I have to fight, think incredibly hard, to realize it's my silly self.
I don't feel a part of society much, but sometimes become life of the party...usual normal self?..who knows.
I like that you stick with your partner.
My partner keeps me on track, I recently felt I must be of hard work to him.
He says not we roll together.
So definitely he is my anchor.
I hope to get a little brighter, it's possible.
Sometimes I've got to not think on ahead, commitments etc, because it gets too much.
I just wish some days I could express the empty lonely feeling that creeps in....lingering her nasty head for longer than I know.
Right I've a toddler at my feet....
Thanks @Silenus...don't stop doing what you do!
😊:ok_hand:

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

Poem - Annulus Cor

This poem was inspired by a visit to a jewellers... for some odd reason, I had always thought that I wanted a simple broad rounded ring made of platinum... dunno why, but it had been ticking away at the back of my head for donkey's years...

Then, one day, I walked into a jewellers shop to enquire about how much it would cost to get the kind of ring I wanted in platinum...

I tried on some cheap silver rings to try and get the right profile and size...

Then, the jeweller made some calls to find out how much it would cost for such a ring made of platinum...

Hahaha...

It was about 5 grand... hahaha...

I may be bipolar, and spend big from time to time, but there ain't no way never this little duck is going to spend 5 grand on a ring...

So I bought the cheap silver ring I liked instead... I bought it for 90 bucks...

I'm very happy with my cheap silver ring...

The poem deals with bipolar overspending, materialism, and what truly matters in life...

When you own something, rarely do you realise that the thing is actually owning you... you don't want to lose the thing or damage the thing or have the thing stolen, and so the thing owns you...

Annulus Cor

I bought myself this platinum ring,
This platinum ring is what I bought;
It cost me five grand, five grand!
This is the fever I have caught.

I wear this platinum ring on my finger,
On my finger is where I wear this platinum ring;
It cost me my hand, my hand!
When before I thought I would be a king.

I keep my hand in a velvet box,
In a velvet box is where I keep my hand;
I would not want to damage my ring!
It’s platinum, don’t you understand?

I take it out on special occasions,
On special occasions I take it out;
I show the people my platinum ring,
As I wave it graciously all about.

I wear this heart upon my sleeve,
Upon my sleeve I wear this heart;
I gave up one of my very hands,
But with my heart I will not part.

In response to: Poem - Annulus Cor

Poem - I Don't Think Non Compos Meant This

Non compos mentis... it's Latin for not sane or in one's right mind...

With all the chaos of my thoughts inside my head, the shouts and the repetition, relief or peace is hard to find...

It would be unwise to self medicate using alcohol to the point where my thoughts are stilled, for even when I am reeling drunk and slurring my words, still I am able to write my clear sharp laser beam thoughts which burn through my mind always... I can't physically drink enough to still my thoughts without doing significant damage to my body...

In my youth... hahaha... yeah, well, I tried, as young fools do... hahaha...

But there is no peace to be found there...

Philosophy... personal evolution... Mindfulness... meditation... the middle way... all of these things, they help by being the quiet underneath the noise...

The quiet always exists underneath or beyond the noise, waiting for you to notice it and bask in its peace for a while...

I Don’t Think Non Compos Meant This

Non compos mentis,
I don’t think it meant this,
This unsound state of mind;

You would think without sound
The silence would astound,
But an unquiet mind is unkind;

From nowhere the sound
Continues to pound,
And ties continue to bind;

But beyond the sound
There’s a silence profound,
Of peace that’s been so hard to find.

In response to: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy

Lol. .oh so funny! The platinum ring caper...yup, I no bunny either on big ridiculous spends but over indulgent ones ...that's me! 😂 @Silenus...now I'm going to look up Silverton..think I've passed through there..mad max fans in dis house!!
711 - 720 of 2,932