What are the odds?

What were the odds of our paths crossing? Call it fate if you will.

The roads that had led to this path are all but forgotten. They were long and winding roads filled with obstacles, detours, and dead ends forcing us onto another trail.

Some trails were harder to travel than others. They were full of muck and mire slowing us down. Others were covered in darkness with only the stars to guide us on our way.

Of course I’ve been lost during these travels. My body shows the scars of the wounds that have healed. The ones within my mind are harder to see.

So when I finally came to this bridge to see you on the other side it was an easy decision to cross. In the hopes of taking you along with me in this journey. To take you to places you have never been before.

Time will tell what the rest of the adventures of life will be. Will there be a road to guide us or are
we merely at a rest stop along the way?

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The end is near.

The end is near.
The end of my therapy that is. Group sessions that I had willfully participated in with the thought that they would cure what ailed me. Sadly they have not cured me but they did give me a glimmer of hope.

The beast within me is stirring now though, I feel him coming out. It seems as if my methods of relaxation and avoiding triggers have kept it dormant.

Now the stressors are increasing again. It’s a mixed state of emotions at this time. Which way will it go (depression, mania) is yet to be seen. Either way will no doubt give me something to write about other than what it has been…. Normal

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Where have you been?

Where have I been?
I’ve been everywhere and I’ve been through a lot. I haven’t written anything in a year. I used to write as part of a healing process.
My writings became fodder for hatred against me. Well just because I am crazy.
The stories I had told were out of this world because I was out of my mind.
My illness overwhelmed me and those around me. Now those that were once close to me don’t want anything to do with me. I am now utterly alone.
It is part of the sad truth. Each step I have taken to improve myself and my life has been met by a great resistance. Those that know me don’t want to speak to me. Life has been better without me in it apparently. There doesn’t seem like there is anything I could do to change that perspective. The damage that has been done is too great.
I hold out for hope. The hope that there would be someone to see me as I am. There is greatness within. Behind the damaged facade. That discovery of what is within will have to wait. For now…

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If you only knew

If you only knew what it was like to walk in my shoes. Maybe you would understand.

These thoughts and feelings inside me are not things that can be controlled.

They make me the way I am.

For most of my life it made me an extraordinary person. I was able to do many different things and some very well at that.

It was always a mystery how it could be done by just this one. I never gave it any thought.

I was driven. Driven to do more.

Then at times there was none. No pleasures. No goals seen through.

Walking through the muck.
The mud clinging with every step in these boots.

It was never my fault for the mess that trailed behind. These things happen when walking through the mud puddles of life. It was always cleaned up sooner or later.

You may have had similar feelings. To what extent is unknown.

I know so much more now but now just may be a little too late.

Or is it ever too late?

Too late to understand why I am the way I am.

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The Last Thing I Thought Of

You were the last thing that I thought of before I went to sleep.
It was no surprise that the dream I had was of you.
Like any other time, whether we were together or not, it was like a dream.
A fantasy of words and feeling that were never meant to come true.
It was meant for the dream world.
Only to last for a brief moment in time.

I see you in my sleep yet I feel for you while I’m awake.
It is a feeling I can’t explain nor understand.
In my dream I was told that I would be missed.
Not by you but someone like you. Someone close to you.
Those were words I never wanted to hear.
Even in my dream I was told it was over.
In that sense my dreams do come true.
Even when I don’t want them to.

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I am empty.
All my thoughts have been released.
There is nothing left it seems.
My heart is gone.
A void is in its place.
As I’ve written my blood was spilled upon the pages of life.
I may dream but they are dreams of chaos.
They are dreams without a beginning and without an end.
I lie in silence without even sleep to fill my mind, body, or soul.
It is a constant repetition.
An infinite circle of tribulations.
Life is so simple yet so complicated.
What it takes to fill this emptiness within is yet to be known.
Is everything I experience a misinterpretation of reality?
Time may or may not tell me.

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The Heart of Poetry

What does it mean to have a heart like a poet?
Does it mean that you are broken?
Does it mean you only see life in black and white? All or nothing?
Can there be a middle ground in a poem and still have feeling?

I was once told I had the heart of a poet. Those words now confuse me. I have feelings as most of us do. Is it the ability to show it in words? To show the feelings one is experiencing. I do not know for sure. I’m sure I’ll obsess about that one.
For now I will just take it as a compliment.

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