It’ll soon be one year since enough became too much, since I stood up for myself, fought back against a coven of vicious bullies, flipped them the bird, and strutted away — it’ll soon be time to toast their fading memories… I’ve heard that they’re samein’ and denyin’, maybe stumblin’ ’cause the tide’s finally turnin’, exposin’ the seabed littered with scum. I know a bully only does what a bully knows best (it’s their insecurities) but that doesn’t quell their cruelty, their deceit, the fact that they were witches cackling hollow, that they splashed around potions that stained me to bone. I can still smell them when the wind’s blowing right, can still hear them when the world’s quiet at night, and I forget that they’re not near me anymore, that they’re footnotes.
As speedily nears this paper jubilee I feel just as bruised, just as removed, just the ghost I was back then. My problem is: I don’t know what my problem is — it’s so much and so little that it all exacerbates and cancels itself out, and leaves me standing muddled, wondering what the hell’s going on. From laid bare to hellbent in reticence, it seems to cycle itself — from fit for work to the relapse, to the day of tears, it seems to repeat every 3 months, and although a pattern can be found between anything I’m not having this again at Christmas. I don’t like how it makes me feel and I don’t like what it provokes, and haven’t I given enough?
Lest I forget them again as I plod on through life, these 3 thoughts resonate within:
Time needs to slow
I have no control
I don’t know
I have to wonder how I manage to forget them but there we have it; my memory isn’t as it used to be, I’m getting old.
Ultimately, and I found this amongst the hazards of this ascent, I’ve not been helping myself. I have these censors that need to lift and I’m quick to judge myself, criticise and put myself down, and I’m even quicker to forget what’s happened, what’s done, how I feel and felt, what I’m doing.
I broke and was only held together by whim
I need to stop forgetting.
I need to remember that the likes of Blodwyn and Callous mean nothing — they showed they meant nothing when they bullied me, so why should they mean something now?
I’m doing okay, and I need to remember that I’m not tainted goods but am a bruised apple, perfectly edible.
I need music — I need my songs, to sing along, to keep sane. I just need to perform to feel me every single day.
I need my people, all the people I love and cherish. They are my stability, my memory, my heart.
Most of all, I just need to slow down time and get control — if I don’t know then I don’t know; I can’t know everything, it isn’t possible.
Tall thinking — why can’t it be short?