You need to let go, they said. Letting go will set you free;
you need to forgive.
I have forgiven: it just wont let go of me.
Precisely what makes you think I'm worth this anyway?
this time? these resources? this care?
Do you not smell the putrid rot, see the maggots of my madness?
The glass is half empty of milk -
curdling and spoiling on the mantle.
I have scrubbed well over a decade: it wont wash away.
Each night is a relentless gruelling warped dance of the damaged,
the steps are foreign and ****** the ever encroaching darkness,
I am not mine-
What can I bring you to impart clarity?
I have laid myself bare under both kind and cruel eyes;
let you um and hmmm at my broken heart, my tainted body -
and take a microscrope to the intricate spoils of my mind.
I have endured the indignity of supervised showers,
the callousness of those who have known nothing but love
submitted to regimes of drugs lined up like soldiers on the front line
and down one by one they went
And now beyond broken, I crumble to dust lost in the wreckage of myself
This tsunami of darkness mounts an assault so violent -
its merciless, it violates, I am imprisoned: silent scream.
The growing insanity reclaims me for its own: it gives me over to him.
Instinctively I recoil, squirm, curl up tight - futile foolishness.
It isn’t supposed to really be real. But perhaps I really do belong there.
I let her go. I am ready to let me go
Drained and pained, exhausted and alone.
How my mind betrays me; how my body fails me;
I berate myself for not being better, stronger, more acceptable.
I am a slave to the black dog.
He bites and ravages - savage being
feeding off the fear and hurt of the girl who was impossible to love.
The painful depths are beyond the grasp of language now
and every nerve is burning;
invisible fingers tighten around my throat and I choke on silence.
Hope’s whispers are lost in the roaring barrage of abuse.
I fear I am irretrievable; the ferocious love loaned out
never was returned leaving chunks gouged out of my heart.
I have fought for my life and drenched myself in knowledge.
But the war is savage and my ammo spent.
What is this demented tumultuous madness?
It burns, scorches, consumes with forced acid kisses.
I retreat into myself but find myself locked in a cage -
one to which I no longer have the key.
I fear I will never have my death of this, of him -
I’ve had my fill of being ill - of being owned by a man who came to ****.
La douleur atroce is french - literal translation - the atrocious pain.
I do not recall writing this. I found it when raking through my hard drive written 2008. I have shared because I know I was not the only one, am not the only one and sometimes reading words that give voice to something you cannot say and feel so alone with can bring some kind of strange something positive. What happened sometime in this madness is I cried out to God and Jesus met me there in the dark and the crazy and the hurting and because of who He is and because of what He lived and how He died He could hold me, the only one who could.