Mental Health

Forgotten Son

Forgotten Son

   By jfarrell

(inspired by a Marillion classic)


I got taken into Care when I was 11;

Mum and dad visited once,

Then couldn’t be bothered to visit again;

At 14, I stopped visiting them.


At 19 I visited, what a mistake that was;

24 was the last time I went back;

And, at 49, I will never see my mum again;

I won’t put myself through that rejection, that hurt.


I am the Forgotten Son;

Not prodigal; not lost, mislaid;

A dozen times a day I must think of my mum;

I doubt she’s thought of me once in the last 25 years.


I should be more forgiving;

I should be the better person;

But I prefer to remain the Forgotten Son;

Invisible; never born; nothing but a bad dream.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

i should be more forgiving - i choose not to be

“And… NO SINGING!!!”

“And… NO SINGING!!!”

   By jfarrell


(sorry, gotta give credit to Monty Python; those three words, because of depression, sums up 99.9% of my life :-) “…..a sceptic tank? You WERE lucky……”)



Misery is a peculiar mistress;

You’re not listening, why would I? Hate this place;

But…., you’re tapping your foot and

“And…. NO SINGING!!!”


So, you stand there;

Trying to smile, but in a nice way;

Trying to mask the misery; the bitterness;

A complete stranger smiles at me and…..

“And… NO SINGING!!!”


Alone, at last;

Get my shoes off; let my mask down;

Cutting, so, so deep…… yesssssss…. comfort…..

My criss-crossed cuts release the bitterness I feel…..

“And…. NO SINGING!!!”


Every pleasure; music, reading, cutting,

Films, the whole of life, of people and everything after that;

Every nice feeling is accompanied by a voice;

“And…. NO SINGING!!!!”;

If ever I find the owner I cutting his throat.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

monty python, one of the finest comedy teams, ever

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Fevered visions

Fevered visions

By jfarrell


6 or 7 years old;

I wake in the night, desperate for the toilet

Rush out to bathroom

To see a bright, glowing light emerge

From the bottom of the stairs.


Fled in terror back to my bed;

Don’t know what I saw,

But by the time I was under the covers, hiding

It was a glowing skeleton wrapped in chains;



Another, flu, bug blurred night;

Awaking again;

This time, the walls and floor go;

As I look, everything recedes, at high speed,

Into an unreachable distance;

There is no floor, just me, the bed

And a dark, bottomless chasm.


And the ones I really hate…

I awake to find my bedding is somehow alive,

An intelligent, thinking, malevolent entity

Hell-bent on suffocating me, tying me down;

Holding me responsible for horrid crimes

I can’t remember.


Maybe we can’t cure flu,

Because it’s really tiny aliens


On messing with our heads.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

fever - the strongest hallucinagen known to science

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Failure to communicate

Failure to communicate

   By jfarrell


When I brought the form home from primary school,

I was scared of being in trouble at school;

So, when my parents couldn’t be bothered to fill out the form,

I did it;

5 or 6 years old,

And my dad beat the crap outta me

Coz I couldn’t read or know what ‘bronchitis’ was.

My failing to communicate.


Paul, I can’t hold it anymore, we gotta stop -

It’s only another 6 feet -


Bugger I dropped the shed wall.

My failing to communicate.


My keyworker is supplying me, a 12 year old boy,

With hardcore pornography and taking me out on special trips

To have sex with girls from other children’s homes;

Can I tell the officer-in charge?

Who’s last place of work was closed down amongst abuse allegations;

He was on the news.

My failing to communicate.


Might also explain why I have no close friends,

And I find people ‘difficult’; unexpectable;

I fail to communicate;

Or maybe, I see no-one to communicate to;

And the last time I did try to communicate,

The recipient couldn’t be bothered to listen…


Hmmm, my spider senses tell me,

There will always be more questions than answers.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

communication breakdown, it's always the same


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I’m not the messiah.. (he’s a…)

I’m not the messiah.. (he’s a…)

     By jfarrell



(thank you, monty python)


I am not the messiah;

I hope you know that….

I too stupid to be anything other than honest.


Instead of wallowing here, in this hole…

I could sweet-talk old ladies outta their savings;

But that would make me feel bad.


A way with words is, apparently, the only real skill I have;

And for someone who doesn’t talk a lot,

I can be very careless with words.


I could easily make a suicide cult :)

But I imagine the pay is disappointing;

And the perks… shagging everything I want


Not really me,

Though,sometimes, I sorely wish it was;

Everyone, die on my command.


I can see how that would appeal.

You read my ramblings

And I feel, YES, I AM, but I don’t want the job.


Why do you read me?

I am nothing, a mote upon the wind of the cosmos;

But so many of you read my stuff


And say nice things;

And, sometimes, scarey things?

Please tell me why, I am nothing.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

and i'm not a very naughty boy, either :) well, that website doesn't count...

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Laugh, and the world laughs with you…

Laugh, and the world laughs with you…

By jfarrell



(“cry, and you’ll cry all alone” - rightful thanks to chas’n dave, great band)





There’s a truth there;

A lesson for us all to learn,

Especially me;

Especially you;

I have the courage, the boldness to speak to you;

Reading poems, you are too much like me;

I know I’m not alone, the only one;

I just feel that way;

And you do too, sometimes.


One of the things I really hate about depression..

It takes everything;

I used to love music, had a wicked (well I thought so)

Sense of humour;

Most of the music I feel compelled to listen to

Is from my teenage years

Old sit-coms and stand ups made me laugh;

Today’s don’t seem to match up.


“laugh, and the world laughs with you (at you, is my perception)

Cry, and you’ll cry all alone”;

Being me is not just a state of mind,

It’s a contempt, a burning hatred, of who I am;

But, yes, laugh! We both must;

Staring ahead and grinning insanely,

Smiling inanely;

Visualise and think nice thoughts

Must be positive!



Author's Notes/Comments: 

ha ha ha, see, i laugh

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The inner maelstrom

The inner maelstrom

By jfarrell


My exterior:

Calm, relaxed; my eyes dart around everywhere,

But only a certain type of person looks for that;

Recognises what it is;

Most people miss it; and the slight tremor;

They just see calm, relaxed.


My interior:

Jumping to giddying heights,

Plummeting to treacherous self-pity;

Burning; freezing;

Wanting to cut your throat,

But wanting hide all feeling, thought of cutting your throat;

Battering your body;

Soaking you in petrol and dropping the match;

Bad jim, can’t feel that

Where’s the knife, the sharp one

Gotta cut, gotta pay, bad thought, gotta pay for that

No, don’t cut you, cut them, they the ones make you hurt

No, no, hide, cut me, I’m here, it’s my fault

I was bad

Hate this fear, this hate, this self pity this never ending


My exterior:

Calm, relaxed;

My smile breaks as I ask

“do you want fries with that, sir?”

I hope I don’t work at your favourite burger bar;

You’ll never know what’s going on behind that smile.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

madness, i say, madness, lock your doors -a storm's a coming



   By jfarrell


Mine are wrong;

I’m pretty sure I was told the same in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy;

And I was advised today

‘change your perceptions’.



Thinking nice thoughts is the answer?

The logic, the arguments about being positive,

I understand them

But when the lift door opens

And a bald-headed, viscous dog wielding thug

Says “one more word outta you and I smacking you in the teeth”

The only thought I got room for

Is “please don’t hit me”



It must be really nice,

Experiencing people as generally being very nice;

I can’t help but feel terror at everyone I meet.

At 49 years old, I’ve never respected anyone,

Don’t know how to;

I know to feel afraid of you, or a little less afraid of you;

Until you hurt me…

I don’t know how to respect, love, trust, value you


I could list all the therapies and pills,

But I won’t;

It’s not just friends;

I have a sister, who I only phone on her birthday

And I still won’t speak a word, or visit, my mum

And I won’t;

That’s my choice!


My perception is that life is sh*t, people hurt;

And be doing myself and the world a favour by hanging myself;

My perceptions are wrong

But I’m damn if I know how to change them


Author's Notes/Comments: 

wot i see is not i see

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Real life people

Real life people

     By jfarrell


My last ‘friend’ I drove away;

There’s only so much “Jim, your always so negative”

I can take;

I wasn’t so negative when I hand over a stack of new films every visit;

Everytime your computer breaks,

I come round and fix it, don’t I?

But always( I getting as bad as him)….

But, often, too often, “Jim, you’re so negative”

Is all you can say.


My lovely, wonderful neighbours,

Forcing me to sit through their church service on a Sunday;

I don’t believe; if I want god, I will go to a church, or similar;

You have no right to make me sit through your service;

And yet I’m the anti-social one;

Coz I play my nine inch nails full blast

To drown your prayers and singing


This may not come as a surprise

But, I have no real life friends

I don’t make friends, never have

I don’t understand people

All their little mind games, petty feuds

Cliques and in-crowds

And their constant yap, yap, yap;

Being alone most of my time,

I don’t talk much

Just the occasional bout of shouting at the radio;

How people can yap about trivialities constantly,

Baffles me; where do they get the energy to waste?


Real life, real people

I try,

But I just don’t understand

And they always hurt, so much.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

my people skills need work

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