Tag Archive | Psychology

The Reason For Madness

The Origin of All Mental Illness

Many go to psychologists thinking they’re ill.
Doctors know they aren’t crazy. They’re simply confused.
People’s lives become so complex that they’d prefer
Being dead to escape the pain that they suffer.
Life gets too complicated, then folks are accused
Of some mental imbalance and loss of free will.

Because it causes suffering if not controlled,
Inundation of detail we want to avoid
At all cost, as it, on its own, grows and mutates.
Normal people end up with too much on their plates.
The Complexity Problem indeed has destroyed
Many otherwise happy lives… And it gets old.

When a few known catastrophes are added to –
Like the loss of a loved one, your home, and your job –
You may find it unbearable to carry on
‘Til the next damned moment, let alone the new dawn.
Grown adults become children. We break down and sob
Out of sheer desperation while feeling like poo.

So, just like the balloon blown up too much will burst
At the point where it’s weakest, we are quite the same.
The cure for all complexity is found within
Where the self knows simplicity. There I begin
To release the anxiety and the self-shame
 Because as things are going, we ain’t seen the worst.

Getting Focused

Clarity In Each Blink of the Eye

Intellect turned against me; my focus unclear…
Psychological processes have more value
Than the ones existential. One worm of ill thought
In the mind become weakened welcomes the onslaught
Of disgust with humanity. What can I do
For the health of my psyche that I hold most dear?

Fleeting thoughts and emotions consume my life force
If I don’t pay attention to wonderful things
That are happening everywhere not in my head.
If I gave life more notice I’d feel much less dread.
Everything in the universe and in me sings
Of our interconnectedness with divine source.

I’m too full of myself. Can I say that to me?
I’d resent it from someone else. If I’m in need,
Then others have advantage and too much control
Over what I experience. My only goal
Is to be more of my best and indeed exceed
What I’m worth as an asset to society.

Suffering is a process just as existence.
One takes place in the mind; the other, everywhere.
The moment of awakening can be sustained
Through preventive self-therapy. I can be trained
To become who I am. Should my mental health care
Draw the worst from within me? It shouldn’t make sense.

There is substantial evidence scientific
And medical pointing to proof that we all are
Better at what we’re doing when we feel our best.
Consciously the decision to not feel depressed
Is the one I must make that cannot leave a scar
On the soul of this sensitive lone lunatic.

Waiting Room

Psychic Horror

A pathetic old nigger, a white therapist
To help disabled veterans feel more at home,
And a video linkup is just the right mix
To drive this one to self-harm. But I’ve a few tricks
To prevent my demise through the psychic syndrome
Of the unworthy beggar who should not exist.

And for what do I cry like a pitiful child?
My ego is too big to be picked up and held.
Bitterness does become me… Bravo for their side!
Knowing they’d care to know one more nigger has died,
I must revisit ‘treatment.’ I’m damned to be felled
By the race of the politic cold and defiled.

Yes, I did serve my country, but now I’m too old
And so not white of color in such a red state…
And within an enigma disguised as health care.
Only fools seek love in places they should beware.
No one knows that I’m not one so no one can hate
My confounded existence not white man controlled.

I can’t call you a white robot bitch to your face
But right here I’m the one in absolute control.
You taught me a good lesson today, so thank you.
Rhetoric is your venom. The ‘care’ that you spew
I can smell like wet chicken flesh. This one of soul
Knows well where he’s not wanted, which is every place.

Has my life been a hospice in hell these past years
Having now seen the blackness of human nature?
My questions are not stupid because who would care?
Someone like Clarence Thomas who’s eerily fair?
Not much more of the bullshit of life I’ll endure.
Neither heartbroken am I, nor am I in tears.

Changing Conditioned Behavior

The Dance of Thought and Emotion

Momentum and inertia are always at play.
Streams of energy sluggish flow with those of speed
Deep within and throughout me. Why can’t I let go
Of behaviors unwanted so that I can grow?
Gravity of life cripples my will to succeed.
Is an answer forthcoming? Please show me the way.

My own habits deep seated over many years
Coalesce into patterns that build the ego.
So to change them quickly is not easy to do.
I need proper guidance so that I may get through
The resistance I’ve crafted. What I need to know
Doesn’t move me sufficiently due to my fears.

The content caterpillar resistant to change
Wants to stay firmly earthbound, but nature rebels.
The destruction of old ways must be absolute
So the tree of becoming can bear fresher fruit.
When a true crisis happens, it truly compels
Abrupt emergent action. Why isn’t this strange?

The ego fears its own death and wants to hang on.
Knowing not that it cannot completely dissolve,
It may generate panic and drama to stay
In a bad situation deluged in dismay.
Not by force but by wisdom I then shall evolve
Though antics of the ego will never be gone.

Sensory Maintenance

Fresh Emotional Shift

Personal and subjective concerns override
Everything else. It need not be too difficult
To arrange time together with those of our kin.
Our most sensitive feelings grow from deep within
And exude positive energy. The result
Is a smooth running engine of love amplified.

Systems such as relationships can use a tweak
Frequency of the tuning is never too high.
But to share an adventure is for the old soul
A delightfully bright day. It keeps the heart whole.
For the young one curiosity is the sky.
Bonds remain ever solid. They never grow weak.

Investigative research can be done, one sees,
On what makes a good friendship endure through the years
By those who do behavioral science the best.
Those would be all the doctors. Their views are professed
To define what is normal and that which best clears
Any integral structure of psychic disease.

What all can be accomplished will more than suffice
When it comes to fulfillment in time spent with care
For the ones we most cherish. Much more may be said
But if I keep it up, at some point I’ll drop dead
Since it’s way past my bedtime. So just to be fair
I will end this one here, and I shall not think twice.

Venus And Mars

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a thing about gender folks tend to get wrong.
People mix it with sex and get very confused.
Gender is of mechanics and hardwired ways.
Sex is something that’s done to give nature its praise
In the spirit of sharing. Sometimes it’s abused.
It depends upon how well lovers get along.

We’ve all heard of the concept of Venus and Mars.
It’s often understood as collections of things.
Nice and Nasty, they’re labeled and sung to the young.
Ignorance is society’s most fluent tongue.
But the two planets mentioned are all that hope brings.
Throughout eons we’ve extracted truth from the stars.

 Nice and Nasty…  parochial as Black and White…
Conjures up silly imagery then becomes part
Of collective unconscious desire to pass
The buck of the wisdom that we might amass.
All of life is a consequence of Will and Heart
Carried out in full drama often with delight.

Schizodemic Panphrenic

TheMagicRealist.com

If a cornflake-shaped elbow scab got up to sing
And you heard it and saw it while others did not,
Would you think you were crazy? Or would you believe
What is real is whatever the self does perceive?
It would trigger a movement bypassing the squat
If that happen to me. I would drop everything!

 In this space, we agree upon things that we know.
We create a strong framework for what we believe.
There’s a fringe always outside the relative norm.
It is not of their nature nor wish to conform.
They may think that the world has a trick up its sleeve.
I would say they’re correct, but I’ve no proof to show.

If this lucid hallucination is for real,
Then there are things that happen that others can’t see.
There are stories spun off from the stories made up,
And as people believe them, they drink from the cup
Of righteous self-deception. I’d hope to be free
To believe as I wish and to feel as I feel.

Passive Retentive Anal Aggressive

TheMagicRealist.com

I am not anal, doctor. I wipe only once.
And that one time is surely enough, I would say,
Because I do things thoroughly, taking my time
To make sure all is tidy and absent of grime.
I would say I’m fastidious. That sounds OK.
When you say that I’m anal, I feel like a dunce.

Often passive retentive, I keep to my own
Little world of becoming. I seek no advice
To propel me through some worldly crisis, you see.
I just come to you because that way I can be
Most flamboyant with my deepest secrets. It’s nice
To soul dump on some stranger who is judgement prone.

So, what else can you tell me, aggressive assed one?
I am ready to hear all that you have to say.
I know Freud was a coke head and mental blacksmith.
Let us cut to the chase and get rugged forthwith.
Playing with this absurdity brightens my day.
When I’m bored with my dull life, I see you for fun.