TRAPPED WITH BROKEN PIECES

Image result for a chameleon caught in a spider's web

I’m in an awful situation, a predicament in fact, that I cannot escape, no matter how hard I try. I am doomed to failure through my own success. Death would be a very welcome end for me. I fear the devil and going to hell, but I know that our God is a forgiving God and I know that I will surely confess my sins and will do so honestly and willingly. Apart from which, our God is an all-knowing God.

I am a chameleon … a woman of many disguises. I mould myself to be whoever you wish me to be. My being lives only in your imagination. I have no peace or harmony within my mind. I just have a very toxic brain and equally toxic thoughts. I am an imposter … Ellie, yes … but somehow, I appear to be a very skewed version of my very soul.

I am a master of disguise, a keeper of secrets, living a life of self-deception. I figured I knew my very essence, but I was just kidding myself. It would take a very experienced private investigator to fathom me out at my most raw and vulnerable, to expose the very core of me. I feel unclean and wretched … contaminated is a word I have used more times than I can count to describe myself.

I’m a shadow in a mirror. I am a stranger you may pass in the street. I am both the spider that spins the web and also the fly which is caught helplessly in the centre of it all. Jagged glass has nothing on me … come too near, and you will surely be wounded by the shards.

Therefore, approach if you wish but only with extreme caution and entirely at your own risk. I can damage hearts, not willingly or intentionally but inadvertently.

I am what I am, and I detest that fact with a passion so fierce that I could be the ignitor of the very flames of hell themselves. I am what I am … or am I??

I am broken but don't want to hurt you with my pieces

Translates as “I am broken but don’t want to hurt you with my pieces.”

 

 

KILLING ME SOFTLY

 These words are not clever or articulate. They are basic. They are feelings which hardly touch the edge. They are the crater at the top of a volcano which may erupt and spew it’s contents at any time. They are me.

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(My experience of abusive therapy)

Eight years gone; vanished from my life

Deaf ears to the pleading all around me

Every minute of my life consumed by you

You told me that you loved me

I couldn’t survive apart from you

Every time you left me, a part of me died

And I shrivelled further into my anorexia

And permanently scarred my body

“Love me, hug me, and kiss me please”

“I need to be in your arms”

“Never leave me”, I implored

“You are my favourite mum”

I needed you. You needed me

When you were absent for a while

My world fell in. I was lost without you

Like a body deprived of oxygen

I didn’t know then, that you were toxic

You loved me too much; so much that it hurt

Unspeakable, unbearable pain

Cut into my flesh; forever imperfect

We’d text, “With love and hugs”

I cried down the phone every day

You were so near yet so far

Without you, I was helpless

The day my father died; you left me

With words that pierced my heart

I hid in a corner and died that day

Wanting to evaporate into spirit

That could fetch you back

I tried to end my life

The hospital staff disliked me

Because it was my fault and I wasn’t ill

They couldn’t see that you were killing me softly

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