'UNDER FIRE' Why Can I not treat myself With the kindness I show to my friends? Why Is my grief, anger, anxiety So relentlessly shameful In my own mind? I do not like Asking these questions, Let alone contemplating The merciless answers. If circumstances were different My mindset would be A-1 Healthy. But they're not So it's not. SCREAM silently; Lie to those around me: A bad but effective way To limp to the end of the day.
As I'm in a contemplative(-ish) mood... 'TRANSMUNDANE' He stands, alone. He's learnt a great deal. But he's forgotten more. Yet he holds one thing true above all: The Fact That He Knows Nothing. If feeling too deeply Magnifies the terrors Then at least life's bliss Possesses the ability To loom large in his mind. If he has a grown-up desire It's to dance long in the moonlight And in the starlight of Sirius; Hugging his own singular joy As if it were his only child. So, until the Magic fades for good And the light dies its natural death He'll keep mind and spirit alive And try his best to remain On the side of the Angels.
"SWEET SEASONAL SHIFTS" Cruel summer dwindles; A blaze of autumn sunshine Fills my heart and soul. Heavily, I sigh: Exhaustion and cool relief Fused luminously. Now? I'll be upbeat: So many sweet things to come Written on my mind: Halloween drinkies; Sentimental Christmas films And good WordPress friends.
It's funny how life can "turn on a sixpence" -- to quote my dear old grandmother... i.e. completely change direction in such a small space of time. Two weeks ago, I was in a humid hell of isolation and frenzied panic -- and today/this week I'm positive, calm and relaxed... and only yesterday discussed with a friend our respective plans for a lovely autumn and the eventual arrival of December, with its bright lights and schmaltzy festive films (too sugary for some, but not for me, if I can mention one guilty pleasure for a moment). I don't think the change is merely down to cooler air; there's slight changes in circumstances, and also in my mindset... not to mention a shedload of good luck, which I'm grateful for. Sometimes it's easier to just enjoy the good times, rather than over-analysing them. I can't be promised a life of joy (indeed, sometimes my mood changes from relaxed to anxious many times an hour), but if I can find a little joy in every day, I think I'm doing something right. Of course, life isn't perfect -- some of my best friends are going thru brutally bad times, indeed -- but I'm doing all that I can for them. Beyond that, I've just got to accept that many things are out of my hands. Anyway, here's to more blogposts -- and to being in touch with more of you again! Let's hope the final third of 2O17 is the best of the bunch...
Cruel summer; nearly ended. Home truths? They're here. Too much toxic stress Freshly squeezed into too few weeks. Psychological abuse? I know now. It's right here in the family. Late last night, exhausted, I looked into the mirror. A hushed, tender voice Spoke softly in my mind: You're a long way from home. What's meant by this? Something I need to work out. But, in spite of blog absences, I'm here to stay.
Dear Buffy the Blogger: -- You've not blogged (or read blogs) for a while? -- You're feeling bad about it? Well, don't worry. Here's how it is (just my view, y'understand, but then again, I'm bloody clever): -- Your absence stems from mind-fog. -- Your mind-fog stems from agony. -- Your agony stems from anxiety. -- Your anxiety is a result of fear, OCD, some depression, and (last but not least) continuous psychological abuse from those too physically close for comfort. Give yourself a break, will you? You've not lost your inner strength, and the following things will return in time: -- Calm. -- Clarity. -- Self-regard. -- Blogging mojo. -- Outer strength. And, even better, when that blogging mojo returns, you'll be able to express your thoughts on what's happened during this bloody cruel August and, hopefully, be able to help someone else. No worries, matey... YOU. WILL. BE. FINE. Sincerely, The Angel on your shoulder. X
'NEO-MISANTHROPE BLUES' I see you drifting; Drifting away. Far away. I'm moving away from you; Still standing firm On my slice of driftwood. Am I one for groups? I'm not follower, nor leader. Am I one to 'belong'? I'm not always comfortable Revealing the full contents Of my overcharged mind. I'm content this must be so. But at the same time? Truly devastated. Do I belong elsewhere, now? A dilettante Diogenes In a cabin made of driftwood?
'INELUDIBLE' I can't see the tidal wave But I know that it is coming. I can't hear the tidal wave But I know that it is coming. I can't prepare, or hide from it But I know that it is coming. I don't know when it will arrive But I know it will be soon. Soon my mind will be haywire: A dark, chaotic miasma Of brutal images and feelings Will obscure my view of the world. The minor considerations of life? They cease to contain meaning. The tenderness I feel for others? Mostly frozen in stasis. I hold tight to my small fixations And to my minor eccentricities; They're not much to be proud of But I feel they're all I have. I try to calm my mind and body Aware that trying is not enough; I know the tidal wave is coming And my fear holds supremacy.
With thanks to Mr Jeff for the general idea.... 'SPECULUM' semitemoS eW evil ruo sevil kcab ot tnorf; slegnA dna snomed ekat snrut gnissiP no ruo spihc. sgabtihS lluf fo ysircopyh erucsbO eht taerg ytuaeb tahT semoc htiw gnicaf ehT tnasaelpnu shturt nihtiw su. esaelP t'noD tuohs ruoy eutriv os ylduol; esuaceB I thgim eb detpmet oT eveileb eht etisoppo.
'ME, YOU & I' I can't deny I'm missing you; I fear that my mind's gone missing. It's ran away to the pub on its own, Leaving me struggling like an oaf To connect thoughts with words. I can't deny I'm missing you; I can't tell you how much I enjoy Your wisdom, passion & artistry. Plus your flawed humanity That I share. I can't deny I'm missing you; I want to improve my articulation And general clarity of thought. 'Til I do, don't mistake quietness For disinterest. I can't deny I'm missing you; My favourite seasons will come again. Until they do, creativity must wait. But I am, at first and last, Still here.