It’s Aphantastic to put a name on some-
thing the very thing that drove me to suicide.
For the last eighteen years, I have been
writing black-hole poetry, my writing
has pulled me from the ledge, as John
Berryman called ‘The blind-brow.’
All those years spent in default mode,
telling doctors, nurses and psychiatric
professionals who had no clue about
the blackness behind my eyes, unable
to conjure up images from my mind's eye.
Unable to cling to images of my own
sons, my childhood and my family.
It was as if I was a blank shell of a man.
At least now I’ve got a name, a reason
for my anxiety.
I have been trying to form from
a formless mind but I knew I knew
I was on to something, there was
a method to my madness. The poems
were feeding me hope,
even it was a dark hope.
I flicked through YouTube as I stay
away from adverts. I watched a guy
talking to a professor about how he
couldn’t hold the images of his dead
mother in his mind and thought he
was going mad and the professor
said he had a condition
called Aphantasia.
Wow, just a name lifted my spirit
and inspired me to create this
blog of hope.
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