Hitting the highs and the lows

I hit the highs and I hit the lows. I pretend that I’m okay, When all I want to do is cry. I fight the darkness that surrounds me, Telling myself it isn’t real. I scream inside while my mouth remains silent, A placid look of disturbed peace across my face. Can you tell what goes on inside? Do you feel the way I shatter, Only to be remade anew in a day’s time, Pattern never the same as before. Prey on the weak, Pray to your gods, Tell yourself it’s for my own good. You don’t have the scars. Aphorism 1 The good moments are not as permanent as we would like. Reality merely creates the illusion of happiness and pleasure which covers like a plastic plaster the fractured darkness within. What we must do is understand this and grasp the moments of light, cherishing them for the promise of hope they present to us. Then when we inevitably experience the fathoms of the dark, we appreciate the preciousness of the light. Aphorism 2 The giving of advice should only be done by one with real knowledge and/or experience in the area causing discontent. Those who recite what they see on television in an attempt to help another may cause more trouble than they intend.

Poetry (again)

It looms above
If flows below
It welcomes and is feared
Every step,
Every breath,
Reminds me of the fight,
to find my life
I scream
I shout
but no one hears my voice
The dark's sharp talons scrape at my skin.
Ony I can see it's fangs

~

Fear screams,
Pulls us to pieces.
It shatters our copnfidence,
Breaks our grasp on reality.
Close your eyes,
Tell yourself that it isn't real,
But your imagination keeps on getting in the way.
Control what you can,
let go of what you can't.
Will you let your fear rule you,
Or will you rule it?

~

How many hits will it take to break me?
How long, is too long
To suffer for crimes I never committed.
Is the pain and emptiness I feel ever going to end,
Or is it all
Just too much?

~

Being scared is normal
It helps us work out what is safe
And what is not.
To deny its existence,
To refuse its entry into your life
Is to deny you exist at all

~

(Involuntary) Bunjee Jump Into Darkness

When I think about my own battles with the shadows on my path, I always mentally refer to bunjee jumping, involuntary.
I stand at the edge of a cliff, the darkness is far beneath me. My bare toes tentatively caress the edge as I hold to the barrier behind me with clammy hands. Then, something, so slightly, pushes me and I fall forwards, down into the chasm below. All I can see if the dark that is rapidly rising up to meet me. It’s fluid, like water and I try to pull away from it. My body buckles as the rope that is tied around my ankles reaches it’s limit and pulls me upwards slightly. My hair brushes against the surface of the dark, my outstretched fingers dip beneath the it.
All I know is the dark. It is all that I can see. I can either wallow in it or try to pull myself up. I bend slightly, try to touch the rope at my ankles. It doesn’t work. I wonder if the dark place is really all that bad. Tears sting my eyes and my muscles hurt from being stuck in the constant tense position.
I swing my body from side to side and back and forth. It makes me dizzy, but it’s the only way that I can get enough momentum behind me to reach the rope which is soon in my grasp. I hold onto it with clammy hands like the lifeline that it is.
One hand at a time, I pull myself up. I get halfway and my hands, too damp to hold the rope slip a little. I give a little scream as I fall back down into the dark.
I swing there, unsure what to do next. Maybe it would be easier to swing there, alone in the dark. I could just stop fighting and my body would eventually go numb and I wouldn’t have to fight anymore because my strength would be truly gone.
Then I reconsider, realise that if I stay there, I would never experience the joy of the light again.
I pull myself up again. This time when my hands slip a little, I keep on going. The light becomes stronger and I pull myself up onto the ledge.
I sit there, looking back down at the darkness. From this perspective, it is not comforting at all. It is terrifying. I’m not sure that I can cope with another fall like that. I scoot backwards away from the edge, afraid again of myself and what I could be capable of if I allowed myself to feel the dark again.
I don’t speak about it much. I try to tell myself that it’s because I don’t want to worry people, but the realist in me shakes her head and tells me that I’m still scared. Speaking it aloud makes it real and that means that I would have to live with the consequences of my choices.
I prevail, I fight back every time. I do it because I believe, deep down that I’m worth something, even if the surface me doesn’t think so.