Paul's [poetry] Corner

Dear Paul:

Before I comment, I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Diana and I am a first time visitor. I'm not exactly sure how I happened upon the site, though I'm familiar with and enjoy your film work.

I was immediately struck by the power of both of these poems. The second is nothing short of haunting. I was, and remain, shocked by the depth of my reaction.

My son was diagnosed about a year ago with Schizoid Affective Disorder and severe depression. He often entertains thoughts of suicide and uses music as his voice. The only reason I mention this is that what you have written reflects (with incredible sensitivity and insight) many of the feelings he has shared with me.

I have not explored enough of the site to know of your brother, his death, or your relationship with him, but I assume that you have shared at least bits of this knowledge as you were so open with your poems. Regardless, after reading these poems, I'm certain that he was lucky to have you as his brother and I can tell that you were equally as blessed to have him as yours.

Thank you for giving wings to something so close to your heart. I consider it a priviledge to have shared the view.

Diana

Wow! I just read this. You truly captured what many of us have experienced. Thank you for putting the essence of these baffling disorders into words. I hope it brings you solice if any can be had. I think it'll help people understand what an isolating and dark internal life some people experience.
Love and peace,
Whitney

When I was ten or eleven, I wrote a poem whose opening verse was something like 'you'd be sorry/if I died today;'at the time I must have been extremely mad at my parents about something and full of enough self-righteousness to think that I had just written a really good poem. Only the selfishness of a child could have written anything so ignorant. In the past year two kids from our town committed unrelated suicides on the same night, one of whom was a good friend of my sister. I was at university at the time so I couldn't come home and wrote her a letter that was supposed to be condoling instead, but a letter is so much smaller than being there for her. The little I understand about suicide (maybe 'understand' isn't the right word; 'pretend to understand' is better) tells me that so many people assume that the rest of the world is happy while they are not. I wonder why we all feel so different from each other, yet can't see how that feeling makes us all the same.

'To live in pain is to seek an end'--this is true.

I have tried to committ suicide twice. I don't want to hurt my husband or any of my family, but life seems unbearable. Finally, I found a doctor that was willing to work with me and help me with medications. The medications make me feel terrible physically sometimes, but I am no longer suicidial. Your poem expressed all of my feelings, fears, etc. Thank you for putting how I feel into words.