A Poem on Mental Health

Due to its being November, a month for growing moustaches in aid of Mental Health and male suicide, to compensate for my own lack of ability in growing facial hair, I have instead composed a very quickly put together poem, not as good as a moustache but hopefully it goes some way.

It is not autobiographical, I have struggled with mental health but have always been phenomenally lucky to have an amazing support network around me from the people I love and that I will be eternally grateful for. However for so many men and women this is not the case, and a lack of support both personally and professionally drives far too many to the edge of humanity and to an area nobody should ever have to be in. This poem tries its best to capture the tragedy of one such individual, and the urgency with which we must address the stigma surrounding mental health. So here it is:

I turned to a thousand faces and saw nobody, I tried to speak but was drowned by chatter and conversation, but none was to me, I heard nothing. A crowd of people engulfed me yet I stood alone as ever. Voices spoke to me but I heard only noise, for somebody else perhaps.


Unbeknownst to these folk I stood alone, hidden behind my icy gaze. To these people there was a man surrounded by life, a man laughing and joking and living, yet inside a man floundering, choking, dying. I did not wish for a voice to speak to me as I would have no reply, no conceivable outlet existed and that was my pain, trapped in eternal silence.


And then from nowhere a voice spoke, and the voice was addressed to me. I spoke back and it heard, listened, waited. It was like nothing I had heard before, its eloquence, its beauty, its softness. We spoke, we laughed, we loved. It was my days beginning, middle and end. I went back to the voice time and time again, and it listened and heard. I wanted nothing more in the world.


And then one day I spoke and the voice had gone, gone forever never to return, and with the departure of the voice came the return of my sorrow. I should like to give solace on the matter but there is none to be found, with the voice left my hope, my sanity, my fortune. Today is soon over and there shall be no tomorrow. There shall be no anything. Such is the disappearance of my voice.