"Try for a moment to imagine a personal world drained of emotion, a world where perspective disappears. Where strangers, friends, family, and lovers are all held in similar affection, where the events of the day have no obvious priority. There is no guide to deciding which task is most important, which dress to wear, what food to eat. Life is without meaning and with meaning has gone motivation. This colorless state of being—the very antithesis of the emotional outpouring experienced in grief—is exactly what happens to some victims of severe melancholic depression. Emotion drains away to be replaced by a visceral void." -- A Mood Apart—Peter C. Whybrow, MD
WHEN I'M HURTING
It's easier for you to walk away, than it is for you to reach out to me.
It's easier for you to look away, than it is for you to see the depth of my despair.
It's easier for you to look through me, than it is for you to see "me."
It's easier for you to distance yourself, than it is for you to really care.
It's easier for you to hear, than it is for you to listen.
It's easier for you to judge, than it is for you to understand.
It's easier for you to label, than it is to get acquainted.
It's easier for you to bask in your joy, than it is for you to feel my pain.
It's easier for you to bewilder at my mysteries, than it is for you to probe deeply into the depths of my soul.
It's easier for me to look away, than it is to let you see the feelings betrayed through my eyes.
It's easier for me to cry, than it is for me to talk.
It's easier for me to walk alone, than it is to risk rejection.
It's easier for me to push you away, than it is for me to be held.
It's easier for me to distance myself, than it is to trust that you won´t hurt me.
It's easier for me to die, than it is for me to face life's challenges.
It's hard for me to smile when I am hurting.
It's hard for me to talk when you won't understand.
It's hard for me to reach out when I need help the most.
If only you'd really look at me and see who I am.
If only you cared enough to reach out when I push you away.
If only you'd hold me, without asking why.
If only you'd acknowledge the validity of my feelings.
But it's the easy roads that are most often taken.
And so I hurt alone.
--Jo A. Witt
Copyright 2000
IN MY SHYNESS
In my shyness . . .
At times I retreat to my "shell,"
Clinging to the security of being alone.
In my shyness . . .
I may attempt to merge with my surroundings--
To be ignored, unnoticed, a silent voice rarely heard.
In my shyness . . .
I can feel completely alone,
Although surrounded by people.
In my shyness . . .
I'm perceived as having a padlocked soul--
And few try to gain entry into my realm.
In my shyness . . .
Few will dare venture to really know me--
To hear my quiet voice or to really try to understand.
In my shyness . . .
I can have a myriad of words to say,
Yet, my sealed lips will not release them.
In my shyness . . .
The words I do speak will at times be jumbled,
And I'll feel worse for having spoken them.
In my shyness . . .
I will be viewed as "stuck up" and unfriendly,
Labeled by the presumption of a troubled past.
Yet, despite my shyness . . .
I will at times emerge from my "shell,"
And you may catch a glimpse of who I am.
And despite my shyness . . .
I may put on a good "front,"
Disguising my innermost insecurities.
Despite my shyness . . .
A select few will manage to penetrate these "walls,"
With the sharing of time and the evolving of trust.
My shyness . . .
Frequently unrecognized, seldom understood--
A shackle, a haven, a veil.
--Jo A. Witt
Copyright 2001
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