The reflection I see
Is blurry at best
Marred by the dots of doubt
That have no way to connect

I am trying to methodically regain a link
Into the feeling of "being me"
Learning to embrace the (beauty) of all the
fallible pieces,
That make up my identity

I have put my (body) through a torturous Hell
Trying to obtain an unreachable goal
Yet it still manages to be forgiving enough
To keep mustering up (strength)
As I journey to become whole

I do not know when inner peace will come
And silence the screaming beast within
Though I have found an urgent will to fight for
connection
And (respect) my true self again

The beginning is so unassuming
It's a faint desire to better oneself by
succumbing to "healthier" options both
mentally and physically
Or at least that's what we tell
ourselves

Once the introductions are over and
the pleasantries of obtainable goals
made, you become totally enamored by
the sense of accomplishment
That nagging whisper of assurance,
gratitude, and love keeps you
constantly striving for something
more
With that, the trap has been set

One goal turns to three, and three
turns quickly to ten
Now you are in the grips of an enticing,
vengeful, and all-consuming force that
is never satisfied
The whispers soon become screams
that berate your inadequacies and
open the floodgates for negativity
"Never Good Enough" becomes the
battle-cry of this addiction towards
self-deprecation

Intentions to stop are always there
However, chasing the ever elusive "last
goal" becomes your entire existence
You alienate yourself from any and all
who stand in the way of disordered
progress
Blinded by a strong conviction and
supposed self-improvement, you
cannot see the destruction ED craves
It devours every possible ounce of time
and energy a body has until there is
nothing left to give

Still not content, and louder than ever,
ED seeks complete annihilation and
your ultimate demise
Only through intervention,
enlightenment, and a shroud of hope
can the bond be broken with the beast
within
This clarity makes it possible to live
and fight another day

I Believe...Do You?

I teeter along a rickety old rope bridge,

high above savage waters.



I stop when I reach the center.



I look down between a gap in the wood planks.



This was a mistake.

I begin to shake.



I gaze behind me.

I see those gnarled, thorny

branches overlaying the foot of this bridge and beyond.



I stare intently at these heaps of thorns,

thinking of the number of times they sliced me,

how much I bled as I made my way here.



I glance down at my collection of cuts and scars.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply.


I am a survivor.



I

   Am

      Alive.



I open my eyes and look ahead.

I see a path, and though it is vast and grueling,

I know it leads to a different place whence I came.

New is good enough.




I hold my breath.

I take my next step.

I want to tell you
that I can do without you.
But I'd be lying.

Mania. Everything was good when you were with me.

I felt normal. The chains bolted to my eyelids where magically gone, like the money in your bank account after a heavy, drunken, stupor & forthright gambling spree.

The spear in my side that your twin brother, depression, threw inside me was no longer twisting up my insides. Thank you.

This feels like a goodbye letter but I'm actually trying to hold on to you. You give me life. Your twin takes it away and he rash-burns my face in it.

I was accomplishing all the things; skipping from one stone to the next without feat. "Flutter your wings and dance," is your motto.

But like all good things, you drive me away, knowing that I'll see you again.

Try as I might, I remain faithful to you, but you commit adultery every week.

Sometimes you demand my time, even when I'm low. I cry for hours with your natural dichotomy, not because I can't decide--I can--but because you and your twin rip me apart in twain, changing my reality as sure as the rain falls in the Amazon.

The demons call out to me, whispering evil into my mind. I believe every evil thing when I am not armed with your brilliance. I lose that perspective, every time, and sometimes immediately.

Your twin brother and cousin visit me early in the morning right before bed time. If my doubts and fears are real, then my mind's eye is experiencing a real reality, and thus I am as I feel, like a plastic bag tumbling in the wind.

Yet, everyone reminds me that I am but a joke and a comic, one which not even you can trust.

The biggest asset I lose when you choose to cheat on me is your energy--that precious flow that bears my creative passion.

But now I am barren, an unfit conduit that is incapable of maintaining that flow. The demon upon me powerfully weaves its tapestry of sludge that encases my mind.

My mind, it's the only thing I have left. And yet, I can never trust it.

You've lied to me before and you'll lie to me in the future.

But for now, I'll have to make do with your half-truths.

Until next time.

A new year is come and you're still not gone.

I can feel you creeping up on me. You feed on my energy, yet, I cannot see you. I'm glad I can't see your face.

You smell like an old forgotten rot underneath a seam of doors hiding the old death of forgotten men. Your cousin looms, taunting me to acknowledge your presence.

You climb on my back--you've caught up to me.

I've tried running, it doesn't help. You live under my shadow; you're quiet like him too.

I can hear the smack of your lips graze across my consciousness, your breath--icy. You touch my eyes and they freeze without freezing. The hairs on the back of my head hurt because they stand on end amidst your frozen breath. You make your move and whisper icily into my ear,

. . . . You're nothing.

I almost agree.

. . . . No one loves you.

My wife does! And my daughter too!

. . . . No one wants to hear you speak.

Fine, I'll shut up. I look into a mirror to see my reflection staring back at me. My icy stare sends chills to my bones. Is that really me?

. . . . Yes, you're dead.

Sometimes I feel like it, yeah.

. . . . Nothing matters.

Finally, we agree on something.

. . . . It would be better if you just weren't here.

I begin to cry.

. . . . Remember your daughter, here's a picture.

She's so beautiful. I cry some more.

. . . . You will fail her.

. . . . You have failed her.

. . . . I will consume her.

. . . . You perpetuated this all on your own.

. . . . You're a fraud, seeking pity.

. . . . You're a sorry person, aren't you?

. . . . Feel that burning inside you? This is what happens when you let in the dark passenger.

. . . . I shall consume you, too.



. . . . --AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.



Yes, it is my fault. Like the fault line in the earth's crust, my mind splits in twain.

The excitement ends when I've become drunk with madness, not seeing the light around me. I sleep a little, contemplating all that I convinced myself.

In the morning the sun is out, shining through the window. You're still sleeping though, dear dark passenger. I try not to wake you. I seek the sun hoping you will disappear and take your darkness with you, but you persevere, keeping your hands at the ready until I am vulnerable again, waiting to make my dance to the tune of hopelessness--always just, "one more time."

sometimes
                                                       ­                         my
                                     ­ brain
                       doesn’t
                                                       ­     work

right
                                                ­                               and

                             my

                                              thoughts

     ­                                         scatter

               ­                                                    like
                               beads

                                     spilled
                               on
                                                              ­                 tile

floor

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"