Wednesday 22 June 2016

Terrified

Words I thought had never been said,
Let me open up,
Like a book,
Waiting to be read.

I am in a somewhat horrible position. I am a person who wants to believe the best in people. It might be cliche, but it's very true. However there is an extrapolative to that in that I find it incredibly difficult to trust people. Once you've got me, I'm there but once it's broken, it's gone.
I had the opportunity recently to undertake a new therapy course of cognitive analytical therapy, which I regret in not taking said opportunity. I believed myself strong enough to continue down the road I am currently on and make it to my destination a considerably happier person.

This has not been the case.

It's very hard to admit you have a problem, when the problem is so situational. Is it down to my personality? Am I just generally a horrible person? Or am I cursed with this "critical hindsight"... THING?
It's moreso frustrating when the people close to me become a victim. The timekeeping of some of the people I am close to is woeful, and to that when I do become whatever the hell this is, I can only apologise.

The phrase "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" has met it's match here. A mental assault does not strengthen even the weakest of people. Instead it brings them to a new low, and whether it be for a minute or a millennia, they're no better off for it at the other side. I sometimes wonder what type of person I would be now if I kept shut inside of myself all of those years. I also wonder what type of person I will become if I carry down this path of self-destruction.


Define control,
That hyperbole,
A journey to find out what you can make yours,
Painting your walls, laying your floors,
But what happens when floor become flaws,
Fun is over-run, hobbies become chores,
Once what you deigned to enjoy,
Now feels like an evil ploy,
To make you give in,
Frown and not grin,
Close yourself off from commitments,
But are they commitments, or merely figments?
For imagination is a wonderful thing,
When you think of what it brings,
A certain modicum of control,
You can make that bell toll,
You can force that tree to grow,
You can stop time, or make it slow,
Just because you think of a meal,
Does not mean you cannot make it real,
To dare to dream, to act on thought,
That control is rarely sought,
I find myself here, with open eyes,
I think back to all of my highs,
Were they not once also a dream?
An intangible, pure, blinding gleam.






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