May: Mental Health Awareness Month

Trigger Warning: I describe mental illness and suicidal ideation as well as suicide and suicide attempts. A link to a variety of resources is provided.

Normally, my website is a place for my poetry or my fiction, but after a conversation with a colleague last week, I felt a renewed sense of why I advocate for mental health and talk about how important it is to reach out if you are struggling.

My co-worker talked about how his nephew committed suicide, and I personally have lost a few friends to suicide as well, but their stories are not mine to tell. However, I can tell you about the aftermath. The hole that the loss of their lives ripped through my heart.

I, too, have tried to kill myself, whether it was from an overdose of pills or because of a psychotic-fuelled nightmarish episode where I ran into traffic in a fit of a hallucination.

I know there is a lot of stigma surrounding mental illness, but I am now willing to be vulnerable about my bipolar and my complex posttraumatic stress disorder. If by being honest about these illnesses can help save lives, I’d share my story as many times as it takes.

Of course it’s scary to share it, but what’s scarier are those who are dying undiagnosed or living with mental illness, struggling each day.

If I can do anything to ease your pain, know I would do it. I am just one person, but I am one person who cares.

Please reach out to a person you trust if you need support or if you can’t find anyone, try the list I have here if you’re feeling suicidal.

But please don’t wait until you feel that hopeless. Get help soon. People do love you and care about you. We want you here and we want the demons to be silenced, too, but there’s a way to silence them without ending your beautiful life.

The world needs you in it.

Isabelle Palerma

Monsters or Martyrs: a Poem

Pain is a razorblade skating down your throat.
(Are we monsters or are we martyrs?
Hide me in a closet or tie me to a tree &
you’ll see the true nature of the beast.)
A microphone amplified your voice,
so arenas could hear you shriek in anguish —
but no one heard the cry for help.

You splayed yourself open for dissection,
offered the world opportunity to see you
bare.
You clawed through your own midnight darkness
to provide a spotlight for the blind.
More dirt piled on you – who was digging your grave? – your screams muffled, the silence even louder.

When I wanted to scorch off my thumb prints &
erase my existence from the history books,
when I wanted to burn my diaries & abandon my name,
you were there.

(Are we monsters or are we martyrs?
Some of us are mere mortals,
but you were a savior beyond saving.)

You shouted, but no one could hear you
until it was too late.
If you swallowed that razorblade that waltzed
along your throat,
don’t bother telling me when you taste
the copper of blood.
Hide me in a closet or tie me to a tree.
You will see who I am & what makes a man
a man.

Forgive me.
I don’t know how to save you.
I can’t even save myself.

Isabelle Palerma