Tag Archives: depression

if any worsening of symptoms


The bright white round one is to lift me up,

plus an off-white oblong one to help calm me down.

It may seem a little illogical and unreasonable,

also, I can’t promise you, they’ll keep away the frown.

You may say that it seems rather counterintuitive

like taking out a loan to pay off an equal debt,

or purchasing a million dollars in lottery tickets to,

win a million dollars? seemingly the worlds stupidest bet.

But the thing is, I have been feeling much better

since I have been traveling along this new path,

It beats the hell out of the alternative side of me

when the anxiety and depression are on a warpath.

I don’t like being torn down, limb by limb like a tree

that’s vulnerable to a logger wielding his chainsaw,

or being trapped by my dark isolating depression

like a frozen duck stuck in the ice just waiting to thaw.

I’ve tried to do this the “natural way” but to no avail

as the craziness inside increased and grew much stronger,

So I may not be completely against feeling a bit dazed

if it means that I won’t feel that profound pain any longer.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


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The Used Bookstore


So seductively, books piled up sky high to the ceiling,

it being the only cause for their ascending limitation.

Methodically placed and balanced just so each one acting,

as the cornerstone of its strikingly sturdy foundation.

The unmistakable specific smell of old paper and leather,

in a strange unpredictable way brings welling to my eyes,

flooding in had come the memories of being a volunteer

at my township local library, when I was a youth, arise.

Dreaming of then, a simpler time I reminisce and recall

spending my summer afternoons there with my cousin,

I am suddenly washed over with confusion, wondering

how can such an innocent time in life, now seem so sullen?

As the room gets colder it starts to appear much darker

the light that had sparkled in my mind begins to smolder,

the depths of my self-hating uninvited friend depression

interrupted by the used bookstore owners tap on my shoulder.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @



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I’m Living by YOURself image​


I sit and fret avidly and actively feeling sorry for myself

pose, established precisely around the status quo,

recommended requirements for what I must and mustn’t,

from the opinions of those, I don’t ever wish to know.

So what if they think, I’m corny, nerdy, and overweight?

Their own insecurities surface as they poke fun or tease

The only thing that truly matters to me is when I’m home,

my lover is impatiently waiting, to give me a squeeze.

Problems that we have in present day are not even “real”

these so-called issues we have will halt all motivity,

the youth of today will ultimately not know how to feel

social media suppresses and stunts the growth of creativity.

Okay, okay.  I do see that it opens doorways to opportunity,

It is also much faster and easier to get your content out,

the downside is, it inadvertently creates specific guidelines

which in turn crushes you, with apprehension and doubt.

So in perpetuum,  I catch myself feeling beaten up and down

buying into the phony framework made by the swanky jet-setter

forgetting who I am inside, and what really makes me happy,

the sooner I realize this obstacle, the sooner I can feel better.


© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


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The real me.


Hello.  Please stay tuned, and hang around for one more,

the real excitement is found in, not knowing what’s in store.

I’ll try my darndest to keep you, perplexed and discombobulated,

I can promise that all my material is quite new and never antiquated.

Eyes will bulge out of your thinker, in disbelief and sheer doubt,

as the madness, creativity, and genius percolates and spills out.

They may have the sneaking suspicion, that I am utterly insane,

maybe some are just inadequate in seeing the passion I obtain.

To make them all laugh, so hard they’ll nearly fall off of their seat,

The saddest part is, it is all made up stories, of lies and deceit.

A defense mechanism created as a shield to keep safe, and hidden,

allowing others to my safe place is comprehensively forbidden.

The nerves come out in laughter, my fear comes out in gibberish babble,

Just the thought of going outside makes my cloak of invulnerability unravel.

So I am glad that you stayed tuned in, I greatly appreciate the audience,

I hope that you don’t judge me on the fact that my persona is inglorious.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


Posted by on March 2, 2018 in Mental Health, poetry, writing


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Remember when?

A spontaneous midnight drive, without a destination set into the onboard GPS

The pulse of the tires on the road are only interrupted but the occasional pothole or blinkerless asshole.

Reminiscing about being a child, when we were convinced that the moon was following us, as we sat in the back seat and cruised the shoreline in uncle’s old station wagon.

Carelessly and buoyantly holding my hand out of the window, pushing my palm against the resisting wind.  Letting the wind blow through my fingers, a tender feeling I can compare to the tingling of my toes sifting through the wet sand at the ocean’s edge on a summer night.

The excitement of the last day of school, and no perception of what the summer would bring. but not a glimmer of fretfulness, for it was exactly what we dreamed.

Riding bikes to the “main hang” and letting it crash to the ground with the wheel still spinning, as there was absolutely no time to responsibly lean it up on its kickstand.  Cracking jokes and raiding the corner store for candy with the leftover change from lunch.  Wasting the minutes away making any scheme or dream come to life.

Frantically checking my watch to be home on time designated by mom.  Boy oh boy, could I time out how long it would take to get home from any corner of town on any given day.

Mere seconds winding down as I closed in on the garage door, the street light would kick on as I kicked off my shoes and burst through the side door.  On the nose nearly every time!

Free to do it all again the next day…

Thinking about all of this now, with my anxiety being the reason for this midnight drive, brings a tear to my eye thinking about all that has changed.  I question anything and everything all at once, “why do we need to stop all of that?”, “Why not be passionate about silly things?”, “what’s so wrong with being nerdy?”

“why take all this shit so serious?”




© 2018 Joseph Emerson @



Posted by on March 1, 2018 in Mental Health, poetry, writing


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I will not hang myself


My mom used to say that if given enough rope I’d hang myself…

For some reason, this thought comes to my mind now, that my therapist and I have made a conscious decision to cut my CBT sessions down to just twice a month.  Although I feel it is time for me to practice what I’ve  learned on my own, I’m almost anticipating/expecting a relapse.  Especially after how I have been feeling the past couple weeks.  Tired, depressed and slightly anxious… all of which I have not really mentioned to him.  Things I need to constantly remind myself:

  1. Be aware of triggers.  For self-mutilation, isolation, and mania.
  2. Redirect and “break the chain” when I notice I’m getting stuck in my head.
  3. Remember it is okay to feel pain, no more bottling! Bottling = Destruction.

Need to remember who I am and what I am.  Not to be ashamed, embarrassed, or afraid.

I can do this.

We got this.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


Posted by on February 22, 2018 in Mental Health, Uncategorized


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Tired tears and lullaby’s

so tired

Late night,

no sleep,

it’s been a while,

countless sheep.

That same ole’ cow

jumps over the moon,

I sure do hope

the fat lady sings soon.

So hopeful all this

will finally be over,

longing for a dreamland

a seamless crossover.





Although the funny thing is,

that my shaking isn’t bad…..? Huh….

Beyond feeling tired,

my eyes tear up and drain

anxiety turns to depression,

from bottling the pain.

The thought’s start

no end in sight,

my mind races constantly

another wasted night.


© 2018 Joseph Emerson @




Posted by on February 22, 2018 in Mental Health, poetry, writing


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