When you are confronted by a maelstrom of thoughts bouncing around your mind. You just don’t know which way is up or which way is down, what is black, what is white.Just don’t know what to listen to and what thought(s) to ignore.

Oh the temptation is there, to go back to what was once was. Where familiarity could equal comfort.  That cheap temporary escape from perceived reality. That escape deep down you know will only last for a moment, if any. It’s like watching a movie or reading a book repeatedly over a period of time; the enjoyment is there. But going back after so long a time. the same effect is no longer there, just hollow memories of what was once was. Continue reading “Maelstrom”


Warning, may act as a trigger

December I fought the urge to harm. But January I caved in. But this time it was different. Before there was that sense of relief, sense of release, sense of escape. But now there was nothing. Just emptiness, apart from that question of why, why was I doing it? What was I hoping to achieve?
Where there was once self loathing, there was now none, where there was that desire of self abandonment, there was none. All that there was were just blood and the thought why? Why had I done it? what had I hoped to have achieve? How could it achieve anything if that self destructiveness is no longer calling out to me.
All that is left is silence , a big gaping hole where that hateful voice used to reside that once called out to me to destroy.


Seventy Six: Badges of Honour

Used to wear these scars as a reminder of the shame when my weakness shone through, of when I broke and succumbed to the voices of self hatred, of when despondency took over and the only escape was this.

For the few who saw these scars I could sense, feel, smell even their revulsion coming through which almost mirrored the loathing I had for myself. All I knew, all that I had acceded was that each scar hid the ugliness within myself. It almost acted as a protective barrier, preventing others from seeing me from the way which I viewed myself.

But now, these marks no longer bother me. People can look, stare, mutter amongst themselves. But I no longer feel shame, no longer feel obliged to look them in the eye and ask for forgiveness.
And the reason why? Because I wear each scar as a badge of honour, a sense of pride of having come through those dark nights. Each scar I see as a battle I fought with myself and won.