Today I am reminded of a poem I wrote many moons ago in school. It was called “At the bottom of a tin-cup”, back in school I was a schizophrenia borderline, the poem was about me feeling trapped at the bottom of a rusty old tin-cup without the ability to get out. A couple of months ago into my adult life I was diagnosed with mild-to-severe depression. I feel like I have now lived through all the stages of mental despair there are in the book. In the end it is this constant sense of inadequacy that has eaten me away on the inside. In school I was hated for being weird, a loner, getting poor grades, being fanciful, being nuts and so much more. As a teenager someone broke my heart and caused me to nearly jump off a building. Now as a 34 year OLD woman, ugly and podgy, surly and irresponsible – I find I have little to live for. The tin cup has returned and I think it is time to go.
Published by Varna
Varna wants to live in a world where kindness and intelligence reign. A researcher by trade, she’s fascinated by human beings, wombats, velociraptors and other queer creatures, in that order. When she’s not working on business, part-time projects or any of her other gazillion pursuits -- you can find her curled up by the window, watching leaves fall or howling at the moon. View all posts by Varna