Punky Night

'Halloween, trick or treat?'
The punk ghoul giggled.
'Shoo.' Aelia slammed the door
shivered along coin-cold walls.
In limbo,
      'binge, go on.'
'No,' she lit a candle.
Fool pumpkin beamed

At her mothery lace laid
à la cârte,
        for a nut loaf solo.
At her place
defined by heirloom silver.
'But I want cake,'
Mordec kicked the table,
smashed fathers,
cut-glass tumbler.

His crimson wine
staining plush white pile,
she guzzled scrumpy.
Drunk on the potion,
gobbled hobnobs,
devoured Black Magic.

Midnight. Bloated, fat?
Hah, easy! Mordec
made herself sick
and drowned in sleep.

Dawn roused
one pale penitent.
'Shush' Aelia made-up
a churchy face,
glossing
her thin lips peach.
Junked Mordec's damning spoor
and locking the mortice
grinned sweetly all Sunday.

Mary Taylor.

Aelia and mordec, the public persona and 'shadow self' of one woman.

The poem Punky Night is taken from a poetic novella, 'Iona', originally written for an MA in Creative Writing. Punky Night is a Scottish term for Halloween or Samahin. A time between time, according to the Celts, when all hell is let loose and Otherworld spirits run riot. Which just about describes my bouts of bulimia.
'Iona' is loosely based on a trip I took there in 1992 and on my experience of getting to grips with that eating disorder.
'Dance with your shadow self' was the theme of a talk I heard just before setting out. I christened my 'shadow' Mordec and my 'persona' Aelia. To get to know them, I imagined them going on such a trip in a quest for healing and wholeness.
At the outset of the journey they live together, but at odds. Aelia imposes impossible standards on Mordec and tries to control her. Mordec rebels, as in Punky Night. Contact with Celtic culture liberates Mordec and changes Aelia. 'Iona' is their story and that of many women.

Article by Mary Taylor

Happy New Year

Do you have a nervous breakdown
When you shout at a stranger for not smiling
When you scream inside contorting your face
When your only friend is a burning stick of cancer
When your latent skills are wasted and slipping
Well we could be heroes just for one day
But you won't, your time is over.

Do you have a nervous breakdown
When sleep is the only joy in the world
When you believe your only rescue is a mortgage ?!
When you read of the reason- a family alien
And experience the reason- living the Midwich Cuckoo
Well it could be different just for one day
But it won't be, my time is over.

Do you have a nervous breakdown
When your heart's had enough and tells you so
When people don't believe you any more
When you love only the past, despising a future
When you wake alone on Christmas morning
Well you could have stayed just for one day
But you didn't, you said it was over.
Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.

Michele Taylor Clark


The Abyss: Depression's Victorious Roar

Written 23 November 91 (7 months after my diagnosis)

The Abyss is deep within the soul
of Depression's helpless victim.

Pleading for help, Begging for relief.

The Abyss is no fun,
It is a deep hole of doubt.

It is dark, like a cave,
It pulls you in.

It feels icky, like sweat
On a hot summer day.

There's a deep, dull heaviness
That plagues the heart . (PLEASE HELP!)

A Cloudiness fills the mind
Threatening to pilfer sanity.

You try to run, you can't-
It's grip too tight. (PLEASE HELP!!)

You try to scream,
You can't- your throat is too hoarse.

Tears drench your eyes,
Like teardrops on a window.

There's no where to run,
No where to hide- no escape!!

People try to help-
They're all fake.

Trust no one!
Show no pain!!

Your bed is your only refuge
from the battle.

You can't sleep-
Your mind is plagued

By thoughts running wildly
Taunting you from beyond.

You are fighting to live,
Yet wishing to die (PLEASE HELP!!)

It's all just an endless,
Losing battle.

Depression roars victoriously,
Laughing at your defeat.

How does it make you FEEL?

It hurts, doesn't it? (PLEASE HELP!!)

And the pain rides on and on. . .

Brenda S. Caldwell


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