Post by Osrybb on Jun 8, 2014 3:50:51 GMT
The following was a poem I submitted for a contest earlier this year that I wound up winning for my grade out of another 213 submissions within the city. This is what got me a chance to meet the mayor, and apparently put me on live TV at the time (I didn't know this until I saw the screens they had up saying that "this meeting is being recorded live").
"Disability: PTSD"
It could be a downward spiral
just off something insignificant you said;
the explosion or shut-down may seem spontaneous at best,
but you don’t know what’s going on in his or her head.
It is with many faces;
it comes from many places.
It tells a different story to everybody it meets.
You think it only gets to know those who go to war?
You think that’s the only limit of its reach?
Allow me to explain;
open up your mind, of this I beseech.
When you learn of what it is
it will all make sense, I am sure.
It is a hindrance in which there is no cure.
It is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder;
for short it’s called PTSD.
The sudden reaction I had is because this affects me.
You don’t have to take my word
but listen to one of its friends.
PTSD has gotten to know me;
of this I can’t pretend.
Everyone assumes that PTSD comes from a single event.
I promise that isn’t true;
just listen to my lament.
PTSD means you get flashbacks to stress;
you practically relive the moment;
time appears to regress.
But for me it is much more;
I have ten years to recall.
The triggers are many and they all cause my mental state to fall.
Cigarette smoke,
alcohol such as beer…
those are only two of many reminders of why PTSD,
for me,
is here.
Just the smell alone causes the flashbacks to start;
if I snap at you
don’t take the attack to heart.
Sometimes I explode,
but other times I just shut down.
And that is when everyone asks
why the smile has flipped to a frown.
It doesn’t go away,
the PTSD is here to remain.
Telling people is hard
and I don’t want to complain.
When the flashbacks hit
I remember everything in great detail;
it’s honestly hard to believe that I really did prevail.
PTSD is a mental condition that few truly seem to understand
because nobody understands it unless you’re another who has it, too.
It’s amazing to think of what this simple fact can do to you.
It’s hard not to feel alone
because of this simple fact,
this simple reality we all know.
We’re still functioning people
despite the disruptions in normal mental flow.
It’s called a disorder and that much may be true.
But that’s not reason enough to call me different from you.
Everybody has skeletons that they hide;
my skeletons are more alive
and hidden deeper inside.
If you still think I’m different,
let this sink into your mind:
We both remember some bad times
but my memories are an enhanced kind.
"Disability: PTSD"
It could be a downward spiral
just off something insignificant you said;
the explosion or shut-down may seem spontaneous at best,
but you don’t know what’s going on in his or her head.
It is with many faces;
it comes from many places.
It tells a different story to everybody it meets.
You think it only gets to know those who go to war?
You think that’s the only limit of its reach?
Allow me to explain;
open up your mind, of this I beseech.
When you learn of what it is
it will all make sense, I am sure.
It is a hindrance in which there is no cure.
It is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder;
for short it’s called PTSD.
The sudden reaction I had is because this affects me.
You don’t have to take my word
but listen to one of its friends.
PTSD has gotten to know me;
of this I can’t pretend.
Everyone assumes that PTSD comes from a single event.
I promise that isn’t true;
just listen to my lament.
PTSD means you get flashbacks to stress;
you practically relive the moment;
time appears to regress.
But for me it is much more;
I have ten years to recall.
The triggers are many and they all cause my mental state to fall.
Cigarette smoke,
alcohol such as beer…
those are only two of many reminders of why PTSD,
for me,
is here.
Just the smell alone causes the flashbacks to start;
if I snap at you
don’t take the attack to heart.
Sometimes I explode,
but other times I just shut down.
And that is when everyone asks
why the smile has flipped to a frown.
It doesn’t go away,
the PTSD is here to remain.
Telling people is hard
and I don’t want to complain.
When the flashbacks hit
I remember everything in great detail;
it’s honestly hard to believe that I really did prevail.
PTSD is a mental condition that few truly seem to understand
because nobody understands it unless you’re another who has it, too.
It’s amazing to think of what this simple fact can do to you.
It’s hard not to feel alone
because of this simple fact,
this simple reality we all know.
We’re still functioning people
despite the disruptions in normal mental flow.
It’s called a disorder and that much may be true.
But that’s not reason enough to call me different from you.
Everybody has skeletons that they hide;
my skeletons are more alive
and hidden deeper inside.
If you still think I’m different,
let this sink into your mind:
We both remember some bad times
but my memories are an enhanced kind.
