Wednesday, 25 November 2015

No one knows

I sit on the sofa and I rock back and forth, over and over. It's soothing somehow. I don't understand how. But you know it doesn't make it stop. I don't know why it makes it better but it does.

Every now and then I can stop and I can watch the TV and cry just a little bit and it makes it better. I can look around my flat and I can not hate myself.

I can see dirty dishes that need to be washed. I can see all of the cat hair. I can see that I have a problem; I know that I can fix it. Right now I choose not to but that doesn't mean that I can't. That doesn't mean that I can't. I can. I'm in control, but I will put it all to one side because that means I have freedom and I can choose.

I can choose to be happy and clean and tidy or I can choose to live with it for now. Not for long, just for now.

It will all go away in the end.

Thursday, 19 November 2015

You, you and I

You tell me you hurt
That you've had enough
You're on the edge
You need a helping hand to hold
A hug for you
For once

I hear you
I'm here

You cry in the night
And in the day time
You're crushed by expectations
You're afraid not to meet
You need some time
For you

I hear you
I'm here

But you're there
And I can't take it away
I can't give you time
I can't give you space
I don't have a Tardis even
For you

You're there
And all I can do
Is give you words

I love you
You are not alone
If you need to talk
If I can make you feel better
Tell me
I'm here

I hear you
I hold you in my heart

I hope it helps

Sunday, 8 November 2015

I am not

It is autumn, a leaf has been discarded by its parent tree. Combined, the rain and sun have worn down its flesh and left only the skeleton, deceptively fragile. I am not the leaf, disintegrating under natural forces.

A moth lands, delicately fluttering, disguised by the mottled pattern of leaves. Another leaf, heavy with rain, brushes past its wing casting up a smear of golden powder as the delicate instrument of flight is battered irreparably. I am not the wing, operative but still broken to those who know where to look.

A hedgehog burrows, nuzzling out unfortunate grubs, chewing on each tasty morsel as it catches them. I am not the grub, to be eaten and crushed by the weight of its predator's jaw.

I am none of these parts of the great cycle of life and rebirth.

I have my own place. It has natural forces of its own which I can feel wearing me down day by day. It grants me scar tissue and tear tracks that I disguise for my own sake. It comes with a weight, an oppression which I can feel bearing down on me day by day.

This place is unrelenting. I feel it continuously grinding at my soul and I cannot escape.

Above all I feel the isolation and it is more acute because my isolation has a shape. It comes in a form I recognise; the shadow of your absence. When you are here I can forget, for a tiny moment, that it's me against reality. For a moment I can feel a part of a team. For a moment I can feel my heart beat and I am not afraid of it.

But you are gone forever and I have to learn to live with it. I have to hold on to my hopes that one day your shape will dissipate and my loneliness will become an amorphous blob to be filled by anyone that I allow to come close enough.

I have to let you go.