Monday 20 April 2015

Relapse

If I could just make it disappear,
Wipe the slate entirely clear,
I would without a second breath.

I have dreaded this day, I have dreaded this day for the past year and half. The day I admit my mind has decided to relapse, to fall back into the murky abyss of my own old enemy, the anxiety and it's partner in crime depression, or would this be repression?

I stopped writing, maybe publishing, because I had really ran out of things to write about. There were no more lingering, overwhelming feelings of hurt or panic, just a steady flow of normalcy. Yet here I am again, stringing feeling to feeling together in a matter of seconds, minutes, because for some strange reason, a pen feels like a better tool of portrayal than my mouth.

Just admitting a problem exists feels like a first step, before going back to some form of therapy and regaining lost tools in order to repair, or begin to repair, a daily state of mind that is copeable. You know the saying, "A bad workmen always blames his tools"? What if he had no tools, what if the only thing standing between him and the repeat failed escapade is himself?

I digress.

As a way to reconfigure,
I opened up to reconsider,
Terrifying states of mind,
Blind leading partially blind,
I can't see through clouded eyes,
Clouded by my feeble cries,
Cries so blunt they cannot pierce,
Desperate tries to be fierce,
To scare the darkness away,
To keep the fear at bay,
A bay, a beach, a gleaming smile,
The waves arising, trying to rile,
To ruin, to quash, the growing joy
Growing tepid, growing coy,
Growing up and growing old,
Fears folding, feeling old,
I expected to find a meaning,
Yet here I am back at the beginning.