Mental health sonnet
Sick, what do mean, are you taking the piss out of me?
Fuck off, why are you worried, really, how can that be?
I’m straight, all fine, bring on the next challenge for me.
Thirty years in, going strong, paid the piper an upfront fee.
Actually, the scars I carry are starting to weigh me down.
There are times I wear a nappy, I used to wear the crown.
Times the pastiche of life tricks me and I actually believe.
Times pride camouflages the degree to which I grieve.
Loss of ideal, loss of focus, loss of power, loss of wealth.
Passage of life, normal stuff, just shit, not mental health.
Like a flag on the seashore, buffeted by conflicting winds.
Just a tune, played instrumental, hoping someone sings.
Don’t worry about me, I’m just fighting through the fuzz.
No I don’t need help, but think I know someone that does.
Makes me think that ...
As we move through the second decade of the twenty first century mental health in society and more particularly in work continues to border on a taboo, a stigma, a mental weakness that can stain a CV for long time if not forever. Curiously pace and pressure in contemporary organisations are the architects of the mental health issues it seemingly continues to despise.Con
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