Filling Holes

I feel lost without the space where I once sat
And the easy way I used to be able to chat
About so much that was bothering me
Dealing with it all in my now absent therapy

I’m now on a waiting list; I hope a place comes soon
Feelings and sentiments are confusingly strewn
What to do with all this time that goes so slowly by
Waiting for a new assessment; I hope I qualify

I miss the reassurance that I could cope
I like to think I can, and I still have that hope
I must find other means with which to fill my days
Emotion, when choked back, finds other ways

I’ve found myself with lots of empty holes to fill
I somehow have the energy; I need to find the will
Thought I’d visit a workshop to try my hand at art
A brand new shiny hobby I could possibly start

Wednesday night, I’m going to circle drumming
Listen to guitars in the next room gently strumming
Beating the drums will get pent-up feelings out
Dispelling anxious tension, I have no doubt

I don’t need to be perfect; just try to keep the beat
It’s easy to catch on to; no need to be discreet
It’s about celebrating life and having lots of fun
I’m passionate about it, and I’m not the only one

Thursday afternoons, I’ll go out picking litter
Even when the weather is absolutely bitter
I’m with a group of people; wouldn’t dare to go alone
Filling council bags with rubbish that’s been thrown

Papers, tickets, fag ends scattered in the park
It keeps us very busy until it’s almost dark
Doing something positive to while away the time
As out of my despair, I’m slowly learning to climb.


Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

An Ear To Listen

An ear to listen, a hand to hold

My story’s been told a hundred-fold

About my abuse, about my pain

And my mental health that fucks with my brain


~~~

I’ve told of my struggles, I’ve told of my fight

Whatever I do, I can’t get it right

My body is tired; my mind’s been stricken

With thoughts that make my heartbeat quicken


~~~

My mind is a jumble, just word upon word

My thinking is such that the lines become blurred

When will my world stop spinning around?

My head craves silence, please, not a sound


~~~

Yet, the thunder continues; there is no rest

And bedlam moved in as a permanent guest

Is there no respite for one such as me

While chaos reigns but no one can see

~~~

I sit and ponder these thoughts of mine

And watching the clock, eating the time

The mornings are better; not so afternoons

Bedtime can’t come a minute too soon.

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Staring at Walls

A sense of numbness resides in my brain.
protecting me from the constant, repeating pain
of losing not a loved one but someone I treasure
whose help and support have been words I could measure

Six weeks of sessions left may sound like a lot
but from my side of the fence, it feels like it’s not
as my mind takes over and makes all the rules
I still dissociate and find myself staring at walls

I go elsewhere in my head to escape the trauma
that exists in my core with me trapped in the corner
with him calling the shots; the bastard, the shit
I’m rarely foul-mouthed, but he deserves all of it

I must try my best with the short time I have left
Try not to melt or disappear when feeling bereft
The time will go quickly; then, they’ll be no more C*
I wonder and worry how much they’ll be left of me

If I find someone new; if I get on the long list
I’ll still wish I was with C*; she’ll be so sorely missed
It won’t be the same as when I first started out
Will I be able to trust again? Right now, I’m in doubt


Now I’m counting the minutes, the hours and the days
like a kindergarten game or a new nursery craze
There’s so much of me still needing to mend
Who will I finally be if I ever get to the end?

*C – Counsellor

Image source – Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash

Another Day

(Image source – Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash)

The day will put down roots on my shoulders tonight

These past vacant hours disappeared

Into dense, heavy clouds above me

Exhaustion sets in, and my muscles are taught

Like the strings of an old, dusty Stradivarius

Playing a lullaby to aid my slumber

~~~

I am sore and weary through lack of rest and repose

Seconds blended into minutes, into days, into weeks

Time evaporating my ongoing sense of self

Another day I have to pull myself up by my bootlaces

And face the world and the human race and smile

When under my skin, tears of pain and sorrow overwhelm me

~~~

Why another day when I have had so many already

packed tightly together, melting into months and seasons

I long for the navy sky, littered with bright stars

The darkness was once my friend; now sleep evades me

I need sweet dreams. I have only nightmares

But I have made it through this day against all odds

~~~

So, how do I get through yet another day

When sometimes, I hardly know myself at all

Yet sometimes, I know myself too much, and it hurts

And my ideas and thoughts sit heavy on my mind

It has been this way for far too long

I will search out escape routes to get some relief.

Passage of Time

Please forgive my indulgence in sharing this poem with you. I thought long and hard about publishing it, even writing it initially. This post follows my two previous ones, Dissociative Healing and Brave. They are all a part of the process.

I’m aware that my posts, mainly poems, of late, have been dark. I’m currently working through my thoughts and feelings about this with my counsellor. She is helping a lot, and I know I will get through this before too long. However, today, I needed to write this straight out of my heart, which is where all my writing comes from. It’s the only way I know how to write.

My intention is not to cause distress to any of my readers, although I’m aware that others may possibly have been through such traumatic experiences.


Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick
The metronome ticks the minutes away
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick
It regularly beats without a delay

She hears it, hears it, hears it now
All the way from childhood days
No choice for her but fear and pain
To come and go from this toxic place

Come day, come week, come every month
Nothing ever changed
Come birthdays, Christmas, year on year
Becoming more deranged

She trod on the cracks along the road
She’ll be punished for that, to be sure
Nearer and nearer she’d get
Ringing the bell on the the door

Waiting, waiting, waiting for time
Knowing she’s headed downstairs
Panic, fear and desperation
He’ll be seated on one of the chairs

She’s greeted by the metronome
Knowing what’s in store
She’s swallowing down the terror
And tightly clenching her jaw

She’s beckoned within, the time has come
The door bangs behind her – it’s shut
The bolt is shot, and she’s trapped inside
As she’s made to be the slut

Come, come, come sit on my knee
Just you do as you’re told
Her heartbeat faster and faster
She’s only eight years old

Don’t tell, don’t tell, don’t tell a soul
They’ll be trouble if you do
So she silenced herself right there and then
Not knowing this was taboo

After years passed, the news got out
Not from her but another source
Someone else told their story
He denied it all, of course

The police were called immediately
Spoke to her Mum and her Dad
She was frozen solid to the core
Because she’d been told she was bad

She didn’t want to cause any trouble
She silently tucked it inside
The grown-ups shrugged their shoulders
While she crept up to her room and died.




 












Dissociative Healing

Image by Ulrike Leone from Pixabay

The past came back to haunt me yesterday
I thought I was over all that
It suddenly came flooding back
When opposite my counsellor, I sat

I cried a river of tears
As I remembered the sickening pain
I didn’t want to go back to that place
To experience everything again

The adult within me departed
Although I was sat in my seat
I could feel myself drifting away
As my heart skipped its regular beat

My thoughts were transported elsewhere
To a time so long ago
The world seemed unreal as time transposed
My agony completely on show

I had gone somewhere else in my mind
Somewhere distant and safe
I couldn’t be touched from where I was hidden
As I became the child, the waif

Gradually soft words broke through
It’s okay, you’re secure, you’re here
The voice, far away, waited patiently
Till the muffled speech became clear

Her voice brought me back to the room
My head cleared as she reached out her hand
The fear left and the pain abated
As I began to understand

My adult returned; it was time to go
Slowly, I walked to the door
I thanked her and smiled as the sun shone in
For I knew I was healing for sure.