Tag Archives: depression

Control

by Marie Scampini

High tide, low tide
That’s the wave she has to ride
and so do I

I worked as a publicist for a blip on the big screen of my daytime work schedule.  I was able to use any and all of my writing skills to date, and my boss was a high-energy powerhouse named Isabel, who needed me to remain her executive assistant so I had two jobs in one – and essentially an eighteen hour day.  But that’s typical in Entertainment PR so when the phone rang at eleven at night and Isabel’s panicked voice asked me to write a press release and send it to her by one AM, I stopped sleeping more than three hours consecutively which became my norm.  I kept awake with espressos and Diet Coke chasers all day, shoveled fast food down my gullet and ran the calories off with my cocker spaniel while the moon was nodding off for the night.

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A Stone Skipped v1: Battered, Bruised, and Scarred

EDITORS NOTE: A Stone Skipped is a gorgeously broken story about a woman looking to find her way. Cheryl Vollmar has decided to tell it in installments, and Battered, Bruised, and Scarred is the painfully honest first volume. Please help me welcome her to The OCH Literary Society.

-Allie

I took a drag from my cigarette, leaned back, and exhaled. It had been another dreadful day, and I was relieved to be in the solitude of my bedroom. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and wondered how much longer I could continue this way as I winced against the debilitating cramps manifesting in my legs from working my shitty part time job at the local pizza joint.

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Patience, Her Story

by Neesa Suncheuri

Trigger warning: suicide

Her pillbox hat summarizes the ideas that collect within it.
Feminine residue, a powdery past of dainty tradition.
Soap, flowers and gauzy slips, accidental beauty, hairstyles curled.
Purple, impossible-hued lids, now rendered stunning against blue eyes,
And when she goes to sleep, the boxes close.

To dream of cooking steam, a pot filled with dinner for children.
A recipe, such a puzzle to joyfully engage any woman.
No primary colors at all on the plate,
Just spinach, potatoes and meatloaf from Grandma’s cookbook.
Complaints, whines and rejection are her reward.

The bedroom in morning, husband is gone.
Marriage is a vacant affair, a window opened.
The sheets are pressed flat, the ceiling fan turned on low.
Such wifely duties require no school,
Simply mastery of the unappreciated skill of Patience.

Her face should be blithe and gay,
But instead it is lined.
Her form should be correct and desirable,
But there is a ripple here, a bulge there.
Her aspirations should be short and limited,
But instead they are stifled.
And her love for her child?

Should be tender, but in fact is conflicted.

Baby in arm, she steps out onto the balcony.
And the breeze has a feel that encourages one to stay home.
An infant’s bassinet to the side, in goes Jacob,
A final pat tucks him underneath the down.
Then Patience, that womanly character itself,
Takes three steps towards the sun,

And jumps for her freedom past the iron rail.

Gone is mother,
Gone is wife,
And gone is
Patience
From this home.

neesas1Neesa Suncheuri
Staff Writer – Poetry

Neesa Suncheuri works as a mental health peer specialist at a housing agency in Queens, New York.  She is the founder of a Facebook discussion group for peer specialists and other recovery enthusiasts, entitled “What is Wellness?  A Mental Health Discussion Group.”  Much of her creative inspiration is rooted in her now-tamed schizophrenia.  She writes poetry and fiction, and maintains a blog called Unlearning Schizophrenia.  She is also a singer/songwriter, and an enthusiast for the German language and culture.  Follow her on Twitter at @neesasuncheuri.

Here’s the Thing About Shitty Relationships

by J.C. Hannigan

Here’s the thing about shitty relationships — when you’re in one, you don’t always know it, at least not right away. You can’t see it. You can’t see how damaging the relationship is to you, and you live in denial about it. You minimize the bad things because the good things, well…they’re good, and nobody’s perfect…right?

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