Unseen House

I don’t often write introductions to my poems, since what’s valuable about poetry as an art form is that it invites readers into their own process of exploration and discovery, even if it’s quite different from what it is or was for the author. But I decided to make an exception for this one because its subject is so unusual, and I want readers to understand what it’s about. This poem gives voice to the experience of people who, for one reason or another, must regularly interact with or do life with individuals who suffer from mental conditions in which distorted thinking/sense-making is a key component. Examples include but are not limited to schizophrenia, delusional disorder, schizoaffective disorder, and personality disorders. My parents, who have both suffered from such mental disorders my entire life, are now aged and ailing. My brother and I, both committed to honoring our father and mother, even if it’s largely out of a sense of duty and Christian conviction, have fully transitioned into a caretaking role. This season is challenging not only because the caretaking is unpleasant and full of grief but also because some of the deepest, most buried layers of pain and horror are being unearthed.

When I sat down to write this sonnet, I was simply wanting to process my own pain and misery. As I started crafting it, though, I immediately became aware that there are others out there like me. I imagine that together, we form an invisible society—an unseen house—created through a particular flavor of suffering. I hope these words will help someone feel less alone. I’ve included an audio recitation for this one. You can find it at the top of the post.

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Belong do I to one quite unseen house
Of souls much bruised by malady of mind
That dwells within a parent, child, or spouse
Or someone else with whom they’re intertwined.

Day in, day out, the battle carries on
In ev’ry interaction all day long;
Unfazed by reason, season, dusk, or dawn,
Since what is false is somehow never wrong.

No words can possibly convey the deep
fatigue of treading water so by lies
defined—that even if I were to sleep
for years, I still might want to shut my eyes.

We eat, we breathe absurdity and grief;
We have our dreams but mostly want relief.