The Prison I Create (first poem I ever wrote)

There are no bars keeping me in, there is no door without a key in.

All the lights are on without a flicker or dim, my soul free to wander out or in.

And yet I stay frozen to one spot, unable to get past the lock that is not.

I sit and stare at my loves fading smile, trapped in the memory of when I could hold her for a while.

I curse myself and my internal latch, that I cannot get loose from this imaginary catch.

My hands are sore, my eyes are weak, my internal light ever-growing darker and bleak.

The man I once was becoming a ghost in time, locked behind this illusion of mine.

Gone of days when life was a dream to catch, why can I not get past this imaginary latch.

There are no bars, there is no steel, why does my mind command me to kneel?

I have no words, only hate, inside this prison I do create.

I scratch a marking on the wall, to remind me I must obey or face the fall.

And fall I do, further still, into this invisible pit I created by the freedom of my own free will.

The hangman’s noose so appealing,

But today is not my time, I remain for the true love of mine.

No illusionist trick, nor jailers whip, will see me lose my iron like grip.

So I will go on inside my imaginary jail,

And yes, there will be a time that I shall prevail.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Burn On My Friend, Burn On!

Burn your internal light,

Use its warmth, its guiding light

 

Burn that flame, flaming bright,

Burn worries soul, her lingering plight

 

Burn the flame in you whole,

Burn into your unconquerable soul

 

Burn the moon and the stars,

Burn your worries, your memories scars

 

Burn the pain and the plight,

Keep that match burning bright

 

And in the dark of coldest night

Watch your demons cower and flight,

For you have fire in your eyes

Watch your fire burn and rise.

 

Burn on my friend, burn on.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Fears Coming

It’s not here yet

there is no regret

that emotion

hasn’t come to me

yet.

Hindsight

playing its game

all aboard

my memory

train.

It’s way off for now

a distant cloud

a dark blanket

a tears

shroud.

In the distance may it remain

the sad times

on some distant

far away

plain.

Happy to be calm

a wonderous charm

guide my mind

away from all

harm.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Daydreamer

Daydreamer, where have you gone?

All those days to dream, still near, not gone.

Daydreamer where have all your dreams gone?

 

When you look through life’s looking-glass, do you see a long-lost past?

A distant memory, a line on a horizon shore

or more of life’s predictable ocean

to sail ever more.

 

Was your dream too big, or courage too little?

to dare to play life’s uncommon fiddle.

A familiar tune more appealing

alas, not as revealing.

 

And when you look into the pale reflection of your valleys brow

do you see her love lost and wonder how

the day dreaming stopped

Somewhere

Somehow?

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

Vampire

I am the vampire in your life, causing pain and supplying strife.

Sucking the core from your soul, taking your life and consuming it whole.

No cross or spike nor illumination light, will help you against my worry, my pain, my plight.

I am the vampire who takes control, contorting and reshaping your helpless soul.

Hold your bible close, say your prayers, your in this nightmare now, with all my cares.

The vampire you see is not me, it is a mirage of the man I used to be.

Feed I will on your light, consuming and fading your inner might.

But stay strong, resist my will, fight back and battle still.

The night is long but so is the day.

 Have faith in me.

Set me free.

Bring back the man, I used to be.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Anxiety: A Burden Chime.

I am anxious all of the time and fear is my burden chime.

Hands are locked, eyes are tight, a constant need to fight or flight.

I am exhausted all of the time, always listening to the burden chime.

The constant chime never stops, no pleading or begging pauses these chiming clocks.

The clock always ticks, ticks, ticks, never a pause to let me unload these heavy mind bricks.

A walk outside is done as a race, the burden chime sets the pace.

I am not in control of my inner feel, these devil chimes steer my internal wheel.

Chime, tick, chime, tick, please help me with this hellish mind brick.

Please stop the chime, its making me ill, anymore and ill sink further still.

I cant breath, the chime wont let me, please make it stop or at least reach out and get me.

Pass me a hammer, pass me a knife, cut this chime and help me reclaim my life.

I want my life back, chime no more, to hell with this anxiety matador.

I have no fight left, I have no flight in me, the burden chime is killing me swiftly.

On goes the burden chime even as I write this, toes curl, neck aches, please help me put on my mind brakes.

How can I go to work tomorrow, the burden chime allows me only sorrow.

Tired I am, counting the chime rhythm, dancing to its tune at any time given.

So as you read this now, look at your watch, gaze at your clock and be thankful you hold the key and command the lock.

You hear no chime, you are the clock and you command when it goes tick or tock.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Mind Radio.

Turn down the volume, it makes me want to scream out loud, while standing among-st this silent crowd.

No volume button at my discretion, to sooth my thoughts to allow for a calmer expression.

My tortured look sliced across my face, like a man who once had a happier mind space.

Is this just me, can you hear it too, that painful laugh, that devils shrill, that teases me like a twilight winter daffodil.

Let me hear your music for a while, so I may lie quiet and bare a smile.

Quiet and peace is all I long for, not this pounding in my brain nor that hammering on my minds door.

Oh how I wish I could tune in like you, and whistle to the silence of my own free will.

I scramble for that invisible switch, to silence the cackle of this mind witch.

But you wouldn’t know, you have silence, try listening to these hell like sirens.

All clutter now, all clutter, help me stop the banging of this relentless mind shutter.

Where are you going, you haven’t heard, if you listen closely you can hear the devils herd.

I must stop thinking that you hear it too, you cant and thats why I cant hear you.

I look at your face but hear no words, I cant hear you see, I wish I could, then perhaps we could talk and solve this riddle of why my mind only hears a devils fiddle.

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

The Prison I Create

There are no bars keeping me in, there is no door without a key in.

All the lights are on without a flicker or dim, my soul free to wander out or in.

And yet I stay frozen to one spot, unable to get past the lock that is not.

I sit and stare at my loves fading smile, trapped in the memory of when I could hold her for a while.

I curse myself and my internal latch, that I cannot get loose from this imaginary catch.

My hands are sore, my eyes are weak, my internal light ever-growing darker and bleak.

The man I once was becoming a ghost in time, locked behind this illusion of mine.

Gone of days when life was a dream to catch, why can I not get past this imaginary latch.

There are no bars, there is no steel, why does my mind command me to kneel?

I have no words, only hate, inside this prison I do create.

I scratch a marking on the wall, to remind me I must obey or face the fall.

And fall I do, further still, into this invisible pit I created by the freedom of my own free will.

The hangman’s noose so appealing,

But today is not my time, I remain for the true love of mine.

No illusionist trick, nor jailers whip, will see me lose my iron like grip.

So I will go on inside my imaginary jail,

And yes, there will be a time that I shall prevail.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

OCD, Anxiety, Depression, and other reasons I am not an Astronaut.

My name is Charlie. I am 31 years old and I suffer with mental health problems, including but not limited to, anxiety, OCD and depression. These are the conditions I am aware of. I think I have been officially diagnosed with all of the above as I have seen certainly anxiety and OCD on work sick notes and I have been prescribed anti depressants by my GP . I haven’t actually had a Clinical Physiologist sit me down and say “you have anxiety, depression and OCD” or something to that affect but all discussions I have had with various professional parties have been based around those 3 subjects as the main focus points. Its highly likely I haven’t been officially diagnosed, in truth I don’t know. But that’s by the by, when your broken the label doesn’t matter. Also id like to point out I will refer to my problems in the past tense sometimes; this is because I have Dyslexia so my spelling/grammar may be off from time to time or it is a ritual/compulsion I have overcome (there are not many).

I suppose where it all came to a head as it were was In November of 2016 I had a nervous breakdown or what I think qualifies as a nervous breakdown.  Part of my OCD meant that I would have to use scalding hot water to wash my hands. Unless the water was at a temperature so hot that would cause me to wince with pain then I didn’t think it would clean my hands properly and somehow, germs or grease or whatever it was I thought required such intense sterilization, would then be transferred onto various other things like my phone and if it’s on my mobile phone that means after I have touched that it will be on my keys if I touch them and so on and so on. On a daily basis I would go through my day trying to map out my routes of things that I needed to clean, but I want to cover that in further detail another time. On this day in particular the hot water wasnt so hot and it tipped me over the edge, now at this point my OCD and anxiety was at its most acute. I was a pressure cooker waiting to blow, and I did. I went and sat in one of the meeting rooms or I may of asked my brother (we work together) for a quick word first, either way we ended up in a meeting room. He asked me was I ok and I just started crying, couldnt even get my words out. I was finished. I hadnt broken yet, that came in the following hours. Needles to say I was sent home. Which was awful because that wasnt part of my routine.

Once I got home, I remember feeling angry at myself and I thought I was going to tackle this head on so I ignored all my compulsions and tried to carry on. By ignoring my compulsions I mean in the sense I didnt clean my wallet and keys which I always did after work, and various other things like that. Sounds so minor now but for me then this was life and death stuff. I paced up and down saying “fuck this shit” over and over again. Bad idea, what had I done?? The horror of ignoring my compulsions hit me like a ton of bricks. That OCD, anxiety monster kicked seven shades of shit out of me. By the time my partner came home a few hours later she found me standing in the corner of the room, I couldn’t sit down I couldn’t stand still and my fists were clenched shut. She tried to sit me down but she couldn’t. I just wasn’t there. My brother rang and I spoke to him, that was enough to get me to at least lie down. I swear at that point a good gust of wind would of blown me over  I was exhausted. That was the lowest point. I was a ghost of my former self. I use that term because a couple of days later my mother saw me and said I looked haunted. Her words were “myself and your father have seen all sides to you, happy, angry, sad….never haunted” her saying that to me is something I will always remember. Haunted, what a terrible thing to look.