mentalhealth

The Unwritten Lessons of Connection

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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The Unwritten Lessons of Connection

I lost the ones I thought would be
An immutable part of my life’s tapestry,
Woven forever. Their sudden fraying left
A hollow space, of laughter now bereft.
A loss not just of presence, but of promised time,
Of futures guaranteed, of permanence sublime.

I lost the endless, open channel’s flow,
The casual intimate, the profound talk’s low.
The message history remains, a silent tomb,
But the living dialogue has met its doom.
I lost the shared language, the inside joke’s release,
The easy flow of thought that came with sustained peace.

I lost. And yet, a nagging question stays:
How to reclaim it all through monumental days?
More honest now, a deeper query rings:
Do I want the fragments back, the broken things,
Or is this void an opportunity instead,
For a different, stronger rebuilding from the dead?

I am Socially Impaired, a deep deficiency,
No compass for connection’s subtle geography.
I cannot decode the rules that ever shift,
To make a friend, or keep one from the drift.
No knowledge of the delicate dance to start,
Nor sustained effort to hold a drifting heart.

The world outside, a dizzying, digital torrent,
Of career demands, and social lives hyper-currant.
My mind, a labyrinth of static and confusion,
Makes reaching out a Herculean illusion.
The busy world’s quick rhythm, my slow, internal pace,
Exacerbate the disconnect in this human space.

I am Socially Impaired, an alien I feel,
A non-native in a world that seems unreal.
Effortless for others, each social interaction
Requires exhausting, conscious translation.
Lost in this world of confusion, inescapable, vast,
The mechanics of connection hold me fast.

What proper alchemy transforms the passing name,
An acquaintance pleasant, into a trusted flame?
What ritual’s required to solidify the friend,
To confidant and pillar, on whom one can depend?
How to tend this garden so it thrives, not withers thin?
The vital lessons of these bonds were never written in.

In this struggle, I lost my authentic self’s deep call,
My unique longings muffled by the noise of it all.
Lost beneath the effort to be what others sought,
My own desires indistinct, in the battles fought.

I lost the subtle nuances, the unspoken art,
The reading of the body, the comforting hand’s part.
The effortless mirroring of mood, the perfect timing’s grace,
The tools that equip others to master social space.
Without them, I operated blind in the dense fog,
Lost in isolation’s self-doubt, like a log.

But then a tectonic shift occurred within the night,
The fog dispersed, pierced by an internal light.
The finding was no external, sudden grace,
But a revelation born from that empty space.

I Found a core of unshakeable strength inside,
No longer contingent on where others reside.
A self-sustaining power, a bedrock I possess,
To hold and to rely upon in times of stress.

I Found new forms of connection, soul-deep and true,
With people who truly see me, and see me anew.
Bonds built on mutual resilience, not proximity’s plea,
These are the conversations that will not end for me.

I Found a powerful, relentless love, not on condition,
A self-acceptance, a profound self-compassion.
No longer scanning horizons for where worth has fled,
I carry the source within, in the words I have said.
It is a love that will not quit, a permanent estate,
A fortress built from inside, sealed by my own gate.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

A Silent Farewell

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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A Silent Farewell

I hide myself away, retreating from the world’s harsh light,
To hide from those I fear, the shadows that invade the night.
The whispers and the judging eyes, they pierce me to the core,
So I draw the curtains closed, and lock the heavy door.
I hide myself away, within this solitary keep,
A silent farewell for now, while deeper secrets sleep.

The silence of this self-made cell becomes a heavy shroud,
I cried myself to sleep, a soundless weeping in the crowd.
To hide and weep, my body shaking with the strain,
To hide and weep, to wash away the bitter, throbbing pain.
Each tear a wasted moment, falling in the deep,
As promises I couldn’t keep haunt me while I sleep.

A sharp regret now cuts the air: Why did I waste so much time?
Consumed by baseless fear, an unforgivable, self-made crime.
To fear what they say, the empty words that hold no weight,
To let their careless judgments seal my solitary fate.
I should have stood defiant, met their gaze with fiery pride,
But cowardice took hold, and left me here to hide.

Again, the darkness calls me down, the cycle starts anew,
I cried myself to sleep, until the morning filtered through.
To hide and weep, a ritual of sorrow and despair,
To hide and weep, a burden that my heart can barely bear.
This isolation is a monster, feeding on my will,
A self-imposed exile upon this lonely, silent hill.

But then a whisper rises, fragile yet defined,
A voice that speaks of freedom, leaving fear behind.
Open the doors, let sunlight flood the dust and gloom,
And hide no more, escape this cold and empty room.
Open the doors, the hinges squeak with long disuse,
And hide no more, relinquish every weak excuse.
The world awaits beyond the latch, vibrant and so vast,
A future built on courage, leaving shadows in the past.

I cried myself to sleep, a memory that starts to fade,
Wasting so much time, upon a path too long delayed.
Wasting so much time, a treasure carelessly set free,
But now the lock is broken, and the key belongs to me.
The sun on my face is a promise, clear and bold,
A new story beginning, waiting to unfold.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Unspoken Question of Worth

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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The Unspoken Question of Worth

Am I a difficult person to be friends with?
The question echoes in the lonely silence,
A heavy query, weighted by repeated pain.
I dissect each word, each passing glance,
Seeking the flaw so visible to others’ eyes,
Yet stubbornly opaque, a shadow on my own stain.

Am I too awkward, my presence a strain?
Does nervousness stilt the practiced conversation?
I rehearse the words, the balance I must find,
To hold the moment, a calculated equation.
But the words tumble out, a chaotic, hurried rush,
Leaving the perfect moment behind.

Am I too anxious, a constant, worrying hum?
A fear of saying too much, of taking up space,
Of simply being a burden, too large, too loud.
This anxiety, palpable, a barrier I can’t erase,
A repellent field that pushes people away,
Before a true connection is allowed.

Do I forget to hold my tongue’s sharp edge?
I value honesty, perhaps too stark and free.
I speak without the varnish of social grace,
And the truth, though gently offered, can still be
Mistaken for bluntness, a candor that drives them out.
What is it? A flaw I cannot place.

I don’t have many friends; the truth is stark.
My circle’s small, fragile, and often transient.
I don’t know what’s wrong, the fundamental divide.
While others form bonds, lasting and resilient,
Mine disintegrate like paper submerged in water,
With nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide.

I am a friend until a better one appears.
I serve a purpose, a stand-in for the interim,
A convenient stop until a brighter option’s found.
I am never good enough, always on the rim;
The comparison is the moment of my replacement.
I am the waiting room, not the desired ground.

I hold on too long, clinging to the frayed thread,
Stretching the inevitable goodbye, a profound fear.
My loyalty, my constancy, becomes a weight,
A burden they let go, holding nothing dear.
Sometimes I must be the one to let go first,
A painful, self-preserving, final tear.

It is lonely at times, profoundly I miss
The shared laughter, the feeling of belonging, deep inside.
But is it real, or the memory idealized?
A performance they gave, while they stood by my side,
Waiting for the true cast, the better friends to arrive.
In the lie of the past, there’s no place left to confide.

I will be there for those who need me to be.
My nature unchanged, I offer care freely,
A reliable constant, though never the primary light.
If you want me to go, tell me honestly.
Spare me the slow fade, the ghosting, the agonizing fight.
But if you call again, I’ll return without demanding right.

Cherish the friends who remain by your side.
Focus on the true constants, the precious, small few.
If some want to leave, let them walk away;
Their departure speaks of their needs, not a judgment on you.
Accept the impermanence, hold the good memories fast,
And keep the door open for the few who are true.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Tie Is Severed

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
seil
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The Tie Is Severed

I lost a friend today,
A simple, heavy line
That should descend like sorrow’s shroud,
A grief for what was mine.
I waited for the cutting edge,
The sting of sudden pain,
But found instead a strange relief,
No shadow of a chain.

I should be sad, should mourn the end,
The history we knew,
Yet in my chest a lightness wakes,
Defiant, strong, and new.
The truth is stark, the choice is clear,
I look upon the past:
I am not sorry that it broke,
I am simply glad at last.

The severing was not a hush,
But clash of will and word,
A necessary, cleansing fire
Where my own truth was heard.
I stood firm in the tempest’s heart,
Refused to be denied,
And drew a boundary, sharp and deep,
With nothing left to hide.

The lesson’s hard, but vital known:
Respect must be the core.
A friend should cheer the victory,
And lift you from the floor.
Your champions, they must remain,
To hold your spirit high,
But when support becomes resentment,
The basic contract dies.

When ally turns to critic’s shade,
A drain upon your soul,
They’ve breached the terms of fundamental trust,
And lost their rightful role.
The choice is not of cruelty,
But self-preserving might,
To cast the anchor from the boat,
And step back toward the light.

Assess the ones within your ship,
As you begin to rise;
Not all are rowing for your cause,
Some paddle with disguise.
Your soaring ambition reveals their truth,
Their loyalty gives way,
As jealousy’s shadow clips your wings,
And clouds your brighter day.

So now I mourn the anchor lost,
The friend who pulled me down.
The feeling is no sad despair,
But freedom’s joyful crown.
A paradoxical, weary joy,
A wish that bonds would hold,
Yet still the weight is wholly gone,
A future to unfold.

The boat is lighter now it sails,
The struggle set aside.
I’m rowing, finally, alone,
With nothing left to hide.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Wait Your Turn

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Wait Your Turn
They bid us work, and strive, and strain,
They preach the gospel of grit and pain.
The virtue of patience, a long-held breath,
Wait your turn, they assure, until death.
With diligent toil within the system’s fold,
Good things will come, a story often told.

They hail the high road of academic might,
Perfect grades, degrees, and the burning night
Of all-nighters, leading to institutions grand,
The path to success paved by a diploma in hand.
The central command, the mantra they impart:
Work hard, and success will fill your heart.

But the hollow sound their pronouncements make,
From a sheltered world, for goodnes’s sake.
A place sustained not by relentless effort’s cost,
But by the legacy that was never lost,
By exclusive gates and a lineage long,
A privilege entrenched, where they belong.

They fail to grasp the truth that grinds us down,
The doubled effort just to keep the crown
From slipping, just to stay where we began,
Disconnected from the struggle’s rigid plan,
That harsh existence which our lives define,
While they stand above, on heights divine.

What they possess, we desperately lack:
The insulating cushion on wealth’s track,
Money that shields them from survival’s fear.
They wield the power that holds the system dear,
Shaping the rules, not merely influence slight,
And connections unseen, a web of pure light.

A network of favors, a whispered invitation,
Opportunities passed through each generation,
A resource worth more than all the sweat we’ve spent,
Yet they command us to be more intent.
They stand on their platforms, elevated and cold,
“Work harder,” they shout, a story getting old.

This directive is a self-serving slight,
A useful tool for a blinding light,
To justify their perch, so high and so neat,
To placate the masses, a narrative complete.
Keep us focused on the effort of one,
Ignoring the structures, the battle unwon.

But now we pierce the veil, we understand,
Too long we’ve labored at their harsh command.
Our youth and our fire poured into the drain,
For a system of diminishing, aching pain.
We know by the certitude of what we live,
That harder work will not be enough to give.

It cannot breach the walls that they have raised,
It cannot lift the life we’ve always praised,
Nor close the chasm wide that separates
Their world of ease from the heavy fates.
The meritocracy’s promise, their comforting theme,
Is a fiction, a sermon, a vanishing dream.

It is a sham, a lie both vast and bold,
A hollow pretense, a story bought and sold.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Unanswered Call

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

The Unanswered Call

The silence stretches, wide and deep, a space
Where my small ‘hello’ falls without a trace.
I check my phone, a habit worn and true,
A faint, false hope that maybe it’s from you.

The thread of connection, I’m the one who weaves,
The constant opener, the one who believes
That if I pause, if I just let it be,
The silence would grow to infinity.

I map the distance, gauge the growing gap,
And I’m the one who always has to ta
Upon the glass, the careful, gentle nudge,
To prove our bond isn’t built on a grudge.

I know your news, the triumphs and the strife,
Because I ask about your life.
I hold the mirror, catching all the light,
And listen late into the lonely night.

But oh, dear friend, a quiet, simple plea
Sometimes I wonder, do you think of me?
When the dark shadows start to close me in,
And my own battle is where I begin…

I wish just once, without a prompting word,
The unexpected check-in would be heard.
To see a message, a small, unsolicited sign,
“Are you okay? How are things on your line?”

To feel the warmth of being sought and seen,
And know I’m valued, not just a machine
For comfort given, always on the call.
I long to know I matter after all.

More Work by Nancy Ann Creed

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd