your idea of perfect is a girl with blonde hair, so when you say that you like me i look at you with a confused stare. i'd always wanted highlights - i used to hate that my hair was dark brown. i used to wish to be blonde, like i used to wish my hair was straight when i wore it down.

i used to wish for a lot of things - like not being the last choice, like not being afraid of public speaking and being more comfortable with my voice. like always being perfect, like always being completely okay. like always giving the benefit of the doubt, but you know what? i'm tired today.

your idea of perfect is a girl that looks absolutely beautiful but nothing like me. and that kind of perfect is something i will never be.

Toxic thoughts tonight
Doesn't mean they stay forever
Warning, bugging, horrifying me daily.

Relapse as a revelation

I. Confession

Dear self,

We find ourselves in the same predicament once again.
In a hospital with thoughts which are cycling at a speed of which I have no control.

II. The Snake and the Spirit

My delusions are so strong,
rooted in logic they must be so,
they have to be true no other choice.

Even my mind agrees
but I know, subconsciously she can’t be trusted. She can be as deceitful as Lucifer. A snake, laying in wait.
Patiently waiting to attack in this case my mental state.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I have been transported in a new world, even if it just for a while.

I see many futures all connected to a new world. I see it clear in my minds eyes; a world where that I could’ve lived in if a picked a different choice.
A parallel world others would call it.

This is not a lie.
Please do not say this is all part of the delusion

I know what is real. I don’t care what they say. It’s hard to convince me otherwise.

God what do you say?
…
Only silence: is that my answer?


But it has to be noted that unlike my first hospitalization there’s less confusion,

more understanding of its structure and rules although it might be a new location

The fundamental are much the same.

III. Rituals of the Parallel World

Change to scrubs.
Which mark me as a new patient: just like   the Bible verse said it is written
2 Corinthians 5:17
The old has passed away, now stand a new creation in Christ.

Wait some more like I’m in chapel awaiting a response. Keep awaiting in the hall, for my room.

Must be patient.
Remember it is written: 1 Thessalonians 5:14 be patient with everyone learn the virtue.

See the staff erasing all traces of its last occupant; Parallel world-
Just like how Jesus’ blood did erase the punishments of sin. How they both are gone.

Settle in. As the hours tick by wait for lunch, dinner in bed. Time to rest.

Feel the excess energy throughout my being. Try to sleep hours still tick by

Wake up fix the bed.
Remember it is written; Matthew 6:6.
In my room on my knees pray in private in the windowless dark room which provides the only cover as the rooms have no door.
Ignore the nurse that go by, or at least try. Thank god that this isn’t my tomb of despair.

Now it’s midday-
Fidget

Where can my peace be found?
God what do you say?
Remember it is written: Mathew 7:7.
It will be given.

The T.v glares.
I go and ask the nurse,
“Where can I worship?”
She hands me a pocket Bible.
”Will this do? It’s all we got.”

Take it like it’s the bread offering of the Eucharist, it might as well be.

However note that gives no reassurance, due to its lack of ownership, it has no name.

This Bible is nothing like mine which I filled with my annotations and personal questions to God.

More hours tick by, the angst still so intense.

Suddenly remember how songs can send me messages, ask a new nurse
“How can I access such music.”

IV. Songs as Scripture

Back in my room I’m transport back to church.

As music fills my area. Sing along, in worship mood I am delighted.

God is my savior in every space I inhabit.

Days drag by, has it been a week?

Rationality seep through once more.

The homesickness is heavy laden. When will I be free to go?

With all the rules my safety a top concern. Must wait to be assessed by professionals because they know all the facts.

They know better than I ever could, is that really so? But how can that be true?

V. The Cross I Carry

They don’t know me from Eve.
And my mental disease is not for them to handle. It’s not their weight to carry it’s my fate: the cross that I do bear.

So why aren’t I given autonomy of this choice. Don’t I get to decide when it’s safe for me to go back home?

Why do they say they know best?

Why do they dare take away my choice? Who gave them keys
to a gate
that locks up my freedom?

How do they not know that those walls that used to have me chain
Have been torn down
By a man who loves me and
Who spilled his blood, to set me free?

Why are they so set to limit my freedom?  Can’t they see on what I know is true?

VI. Why Am I Still Here?

God said it so; his blood set me free, so let me go.

So why am I still here
in this room
Without a door?

Please, call me to the place where my tomorrow was,
Where all my fears and failures were no where,
Where I laughed much and danced a whole lot,
Where we both were together, you and me, just everywhere!

Please call me to the place where snowfalls
Entirely reign in winter, and frost is.
Where rains and leaf-falls are in autumn fully
And wrap with spicy odour all as coverlid.

Please Call me to the place where I was loved!
And where I loved wholeheartedly, without “May not!” at all!
Please call me to the place where I was free!
I beg you, call me to my place! It's not for all

Sitting in silence,
As the hourglass spills its golden grains,
Etching quiet warnings upon the souls in denial
A whisper that time is no eternal friend.

A choice still lingers,
Unmade, like a shadow at dusk
While silver threads replace youthful strands.
Age has no doorway to escape through, and the sand does little to muffle the ache that resurfaces with each turning of the glass.

To look back is to face the wreckage,
To rebuild from embers we once chose to ignore.
But fear looms
Fear that old chains will return
Forged now in guilt, fear, and empathy
Elements far heavier than iron,
Stripping away the illusion of freedom.

A battle brews between vital organs
The heart pleads for what’s right,
The mind demands what’s wise.
Yet the line that once divided them
Fades like breath on glass,
Too blurred to tell apart.

How long can indecision linger
Before the choice is taken
From hands still warm with life?

The voices that I used to hate

That berated me, hated me

Filled me with doubt and fears

Depressing, anxious tones

A chorus made of a broken soul

At least those voices of mine

Tell me that they love me still

After what you've left me as

Motivating myself
No matter what

We all have fears
These fears are sending thoughts to us.
These thoughts are nothing but bad mirages.
These thoughts feel real but look around
Is any of it here now? No.
Most of the times,
These have started out of one reason
THE ILLUSION OF FEAR.

The ear bends to sound–
as does the ground, to the man
in the weeds; tangled by their doubts.
Wet eyes, as the sea; stained cheeks
I follow an emptiness with the fullness
of hope; to the bending sounds of knees

click, click!

My body starts to feel like wet pavement –
a couple slip ups, for the mind to easily recall
Anxious slow breaths, exhaling and inhaling
I cry out, “I don’t want to do this life anymore”

Taking a moment to clear out that sound,
bending backwards; but why for them, at all
These inner voices, are all so FREAKING loud  

Wait no, my insecure self, is just talking to itself.