Torments of Being Other

Abstract

I am bipolar. Writing has helped me during very troubled times. These are just some of the extracts written between 2013 and 2016, expressing despair, agony, loneliness, and desperation. My brother died when I was 7 years old and my father 2 years later. Fifty years later, it is the loss of my wonderful Jungian therapist that opened deep scars and mangled wounds. In the poem—the Dead came upon Me—I have tried to turn each expression of despair into one of hope. As the struggle of being bipolar continues, I am deeply aware of an affinity to so many others who suffer through being “other,” “troubled,” “isolated”—perhaps if this resonates with a few of the readers it has done some good. I am so grateful to those who have helped me along the way—and continue to do so. Particularly, thank you to Paul Ashton for showing me (in The Dead came upon Me) that words matter and that it is possible to accept “difference” or “otherness,” to use poetry or images to transform pain into something more meaningful and perhaps, with time, even into something of beauty