Pond Weed

He fell into the murky pool
Weed tangled round his feet
And pulled him down
Until he drowned
His sacrifice complete.
A sacrifice he had to make
Because inside his head
Were half a dozen voices
Who were vicious and who said
That he did not deserve to be alive
That he should take his life
That he should leave his children
And his kind and loving wife
The voices, they were loud and clear
He heard no other sound
Until at last it was too late
As his feet brushed the ground
Beneath the murky water
As his body sunk like stones,
The last thought that he had in death
Was the first thought of his own.
I do not want to do this,
No! I do not want to die.
Those voices were another’s
And they made me live a lie.
But sadly it was far too late
His last breath had been breathed
And the wife and kids he loved so much
Were left bereft, bereaved.

This entry was posted in depression, Mental Health and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Pond Weed

  1. I had to see a GP yesterday, one of the things she asked me (she was very gentle with me) was if I thought I would ever do something drastic. I said I didn’t know. Reading this reminded me of that conversation. I said I didn’t know, because I’d realised how completely not in control you are in these situations. Unless you have someone there 24/7 to hold you and catch you if and when the voices or thoughts or desires start to creep in and take over, you only come to yourself once whatever demand it was has been fulfilled and that frightens me. A lot.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Life offers many way back, things of beauty like music or art that can lift us, if we aren’t in the tunnel. I remember the tunnel and being indifferent to life’s joys. I wish we knew how to get people out of the tunnel for good.


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