My Struggle is Beautiful

Beauty resides everywhere on our Mother Earth. Beauty comes in all different shapes and forms. Beauty is pain, beauty is success, beauty is even in the struggle. I realized growing up that everyone does not have the same lifestyle. Some grew up poor while others grew up rich. Some grew up to be happy while others grew up to become depressed. Beauty does not simply define how one looks. You can find beauty everywhere once you open your eyes.


I saw beauty in my struggle which later turned into success. I was never that happy child growing up. I came from a family who has a history of depression. I’ve attempted suicide and dealt with many low occurring thoughts and emotions. I found a way to maintain my peace and how to stay mentally strong. My life growing up as a kid to an adult was a struggle.
Not just any struggle a beautiful struggle
My beautiful struggle is starting out low and not so strong but then becoming who I am today.


My beautiful struggle is learning how to fight back and take back what’s meant to be yours and that’s life. I learned that the struggle may develop your life story but I also learned to never let it define who I am as a person. The struggle comes in pain, happiness, tears, grief, even beauty. That’s what makes the struggle so beautiful, it’s an inanimate object that helps you become the best version of you. The struggle helped me work harder, it motivated me in many different ways.


The struggle made me realize many things growing up. The struggle helped me realize that I can do anything I put my mind to.
The struggle helped me become the first in my family to go to college. The struggle motivated me to go to nursing school to help others with a struggle. The struggle helped me reach for my dreams to be ambitious and to set forth new goals.

The struggle is beautiful.
My struggle is beautiful.

#SuicidePreventionAwareness

World Suicide Prevention Day

World Suicide Prevention Day

“Last night I heard a voice say I’ve been getting in my own way. I think I’m falling off the deep end so I haven’t been sleeping. Last night I heard a voice in my head. Said it’s an emergency, said he had some work for me. Last night I saw the Devil sitting in my room. And we greeted with a smile. Said that he’d been there for a while.”


“This too won’t last, this too shall pass.
At least that’s what I say to all, that’s what I pray for. And I’m the only thing that’s standing in my way to all. But I gotta be with me, there’s no escape to all. I guess Depression just stepped in. And took over shit like it’s known to do. Guess it said, “Hey Charles, I’m going home with you. Turn your phone off, I need to be alone with you. I need to be in the zone with you. Because I’m the only thing you’re prone to, look, I own you. Been with you since a teen, but you starting to confuse me. Because it’s been so long and you still trying to lose me. Like, how could you show me such cruelty? When everybody turns their back on you, Charles? It’s you and me Charles, you don’t want me to see you, right? Then why you always come get me, how we reunite, huh? I know you feel for me deep in your heart. Doctors, meetings, pills couldn’t keep us apart. But now you wanna get rid of me. We roommates, I’m in your head, Charles, you live with me.”

You are not alone!

National Suicide Prevention Hotline: ‭
1 (800) 273-8255‬

Lost Child

Little left behind child,
Where did your father go?
Did he step on your little fingers
To reach his hands of drugs more lovely
Less deserving
Of his plum dark love?

Little lost Charles,
Where did your mother go?
Was she swept up in a breeze too kind
Too harsh
To take a child as well?
I forgive you, as well as my sister Shantel.

Little lonely Charles,
Where did your family go?
Did the loss that gripped them
Take out its anger on you,
Such a cruel fate
On such an undeserving target.

Little lovely Charles,
Where did your home go?
Did you run far, far away,
Never to return,
Never to look back
And realize your mistake too late?

Charles,
What will you become?
Now that your baby teeth are gone
And your eyes no longer innocent
Is anything the same?
Is the lovely, lonely, lost child still left?

Alcoholic, Drug Addict, Compulsive Gambler
Bipolar, Depression, Anxiety, Liar, Cheater,
Manipulator, Thief
What monster did I become?
Family please help now and stay by my side.

Charles King– Lost Child

Pray that I’ll make it home

I pray that you’ll make it home

I don’t know how much it hurt
When I came home collapsing.
Words slurred together into a sentence,
At least that’s what I think it was.
I stumbled like a baby taking its first steps,
With a naive and innocent grin,
But you can tell my breath smells of sin.

I slam the door behind you,
I jump in surprise,
While I laugh stupidly, with glossy eyes.
You watch as your girlfriends fuss about,
You do your best to no think out loud.
She basically carries me,
A cadaver with no function,
To the restroom to handle my body’s eruption.

I sit silently, cowering on the couch,
The retching heard through the house.
A command is issued from the echoing hall,
I stand and follow, and watch your downfall.
The cure is made, or so I thought.
You just threw it up.

My mother apologizes for me,
But there is nothing she can do.
My question is will you?
The disappointment settles in, as tears wish to stain my cheeks.
You doubt that I’ll remember that I began to slam the cabinets,
While I laughed idiotically,
A violent action for someone so normally calm.

I don’t know the sadness you felt,
Nor the disappointment that flooded your mind,
You were so ready to see me for more than five minutes,
But I wasn’t in my mind.
I won’t know the fear you felt,
But you think that to you it is like a game.
You hold the phone close because you’re afraid.
You are afraid of me,
What I could do.

I won’t remember the fact that you didn’t sleep,
That you checked on me,
When I stopped snoring to see if I was breathing.
No you don’t think I will remember,
But each time it happens you can’t forget.
But I don’t think that it is something I’ll regret.
It will simply become something I’ll forget.

You look at my body laying on the floor,
The emotions flooding through a broken door.
All those memories, all the fun,
All those moments replaced by one.
Here you are on the verge of tears,
Feeling betrayed, disappointed,
Forgotten, broken.

You blame my state to my return home,
Since I was sober before.
I sought comfort in my friends,
And forgot about you,
So I set out to drink.
What will I remember when the sun rises?
What will I remember, and what will I not?
Will I apologize,
Or go on like it’s all okay?
I won’t care because it will haunt me every day.

Now before you go to sleep you will be left to wonder,
What am I doing?
Am I out working,
Am I out drinking,
Even the occasional drugging?
You’ll be left to worry every night,
And pray that I’ll make it home alright.

My Life

Charles’ Life :

Born of a minority race
Adorned of comments and nitpicking
You grow a thick skin when subjected to
Adolescent Bullying

Spitting image of a Drug Abuser
Mother couldn’t take it
Flashbacks to days of running
Sounds of yelling and bones breaking

In my Father’s Absence,
I’ve had to pick myself up and dust myself off
In my mother’s presence
I’ve held back tears until she was gone

Forgive me if I guard myself
You can’t trust anyone these days
Because the one man who was first supposed to love me
Was the first to walk away

My self esteem is depleted
Swallow pills for my underlying demons
I host a Chronic Depression
Voices shut out hopeful reasoning

My moods are Biploar
In a good scenario, my sanity is within reach
But my rainy days are scattered
Let alone converse, sometimes I’m scared to speak

I’m not a lonesome person
I tend to travel with my own company
Say I smile and laugh
But I’m Depressed underneath

Cherry this on top
Sometimes conscience and voices collide
When words turn to cuts and cuts turn to scars
Scars on my skin that I can’t hide

When ears grow weary
And shoulders grow cold
People only care so much
My grievances grow old

When your words are singular
And your thoughts are priceless
Experience is golden
Lessons gained from the mindless

Pen and paper that provides release
Marvel at the pains of the artist
Each stroke …. a sentence
Every creation … a Catharsis

Grown from lines into my nose
To lines on a paper
From internal damning
To differential prayers

Because the words on these pages
These words I’ve spent years writing
Are the lessons life’s taught
The morals life’s written inside me.

You Matter ;

I’m Sick

I’m Sick and Tired of hiding these scars.
I’m sick and tired of dreaming about being hit by cars.
I’m sick and tired of lying.
I’m sick and tired of going to bed crying.
But most of all I’m just tired…Goodbye.

I’m tired of feeling numb.
I’m tired of being sick,
I’m tired of people calling me dumb,
Just to get a kick (in the gut).

Stop the Stigma, Break the Silence,
The answer will never be to scare them with violence.
Speak UP, Speak OUT,
Let’s show what MENTAL ILLNESS is all about.

We fight everyday but try our best to love life anyway,
We’re the artists, the outcasts and the misfits,
The dreamers and the movers,
The believers and the doers,
Not our faulty genetics or traumatizing pasts.
Let’s create a change that will last.

Stop the Stigma, Break the Silence,
End the Violence.

Hi, I’m Charles and
I’m Sick and Tired!

;

#MentalHealthAwarenessMonth

Suicide Prevention


4 Years Ago I had a different plan but today I’m Alive…

“Pen and pad in my hand, and I was writing a note. Didn’t get far, as soon as I wrote down “Mom” I just stopped. Couldn’t lie to her, couldn’t figure out how to say bye to her. Couldn’t explain the “Why” to her. Couldn’t picture her getting a call or somebody saying her son had died to her.” – (Joe Budden – Only Human)

SEPTEMBER 19, 2017 was my set date I planned to leave this earth. I was sick of crying, tired of trying, yes I was smiling but inside I was dying.


They say God works in mysterious ways. Well I definitely believe that. After 1 year and 2 weeks clean and sober I questioned what else is there to life? It was the very first time in my life I contemplated living or dying. Just how I hid my addictions, I hid this too.


I questioned what else is there to life? It was the very first time in my life I contemplated living or dying. I thought about death wondering how I was gonna go. I couldn’t be insane for just wanting to know but in my head I died often.


Framing suicide as a method to get attention paints those who are sick as manipulative, when in fact, they are simply really ill. I’m ill. In addition, even if a suicide attempt is a cry for help, it means they need help–so let’s help! My depression and bipolar overtook my mind to think lower of myself.

Suicide doesn’t end the chances of life getting worse, suicide eliminates the possibility of it ever getting better.

The emotions, feelings, thoughts, addictions, and depression I had faced daily were now burdens lifted off my shoulders. I had overcome such adversities throughout my life and I wouldn’t allow the easy way out — SUICIDE. I always stress reach out to each other. No one knows what goes on in my head just like anyone else. I can text anyone back “LOL” but I wasn’t laughing at all.

#SuicidePrevention

#mentalhealthawarenessmonth


Substances

The suppression of my darkness and my shadow self-came to a head almost 5 years ago as I found myself toeing the line between life and death as I battled Alcoholism and Drug Addiction. For me, my addictions became the band-aids for the deep bleeding wounds I had been suppressing and denying my whole life.


I was playing with fire. The fire of Alcoholism and Drug Addiction. I was miserable, hopeless, discontent, angry, and bitter. And I really just wanted to be numb because I saw no way out of the hole I was living in. I was living on the outskirts of society, and I was closer to death than I was to being alive. My mental illness was mixed with my addictions that I was a walking torch.


I was in agony and I couldn’t admit it. See, I had spent most of my life in pain that I couldn’t talk about, and this was the culmination of years of stuffing my feelings, ignoring my emotions, and blocking the flow of energy within me. I was suffering from a massive disconnect from my soul which resulted in my utter inability to connect with those around me.

#SubstanceAbuseDisorder

#MentalHealthAwarenessMonth

Fight

Day 1702…I suffer from Mental Illness:

I stand in the shower head against the tile wondering is my life worth living. The water turns from hot to ice cold down the drain spinning. Why Me? Why Me? Why Me? I want to be “normal”. I want thoughts of better days but that’s impossible when my mind is a dead end maze. I’m good one minute, psycho the next. Ohh Hello BI-POLAR you came out to play. Is this just a brief stop or you deciding to stay. Come along the ride with DEPRESSION and pick up ANXIETY while you are at it. A MANIC trio on a road of disaster. Charles take these HAPPY pills it will swallow the pain and agony but in reality I’m swallowed whole grasping for air. I see a little light…HOPE.


I am not ashamed to say it. It’s the Stigma that shames us all. Just thankful to shed some light upon my darkest hours. We scroll up and down Facebook overlooking the underlying issues of one in danger or seeking help.


There’s only One that Sees and Hears the Pain We Hide From Others. A tear is made of 1% water and 99% feelings. Sometimes sad memories sneak out my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I hide behind my smile and laughter that it breaks my heart and I’m falling apart. Behind my brown eyes are so many hidden tears and behind my body is a soul trying to fight.

The Struggle is Real but The Fight is Stronger

  • Charles Louis King

#MentalHealthAwarenessMonth

Bipolar Disorder

Hi, I’m Charles.
I don’t thank my Bipolar.
For anything.
Not a single thing.
I acknowledge my illness, I understand it, I make my peace, but I don’t give my Bipolar any credit. That belongs to me.
With or without it I’m fabulous.
And my Mental illness can go fuck itself.


If I could take a pill that would cure me, I would snatch it right out of your hand and swallow it dry. Because my Bipolar Disorder doesn’t make me special, it makes my life complicated. My Bipolar Disorder doesn’t make me brave. It’s not the source of my strength. It lingers under the surface of my consciousness, wheedling into my brain and poisoning how I feel about myself and how I experience the world.


I’m special, brave, strong, and talented without my illness. Bipolar Disorder isn’t a trial that I need to tackle in order to show the world I’m tough enough. I don’t need an illness to exaggerate my awesomeness. With an illness that mimics identity it can be hard to tell where Bipolar ends and I begin. The boundaries are never that distinct. But my Bipolar Disorder isn’t a badge. It’s a label, a diagnosis, a hefty, troublesome detail. My Bipolar doesn’t get to take a bow.

#MentalHealthAwarenessMonth