Reconstruction

Home.
I have returned.
To a place I belong, yet am somewhat unable to truly fit in, due to the things that differ from the life I lead; such as where the cups go in the kitchen cupboards, what night the rubbish gets taken away and the presence of family at any hour of the day

Returning to the job as a casual to fill in time, gain some perspective, earn some money and to motivate your desires, your ambitions and your dreams

Returning to old friends, remembering the reasons why we love them, how we fell in love with them and the activities used to pass the time, express yourself with each other and to smile, for despite the differences, despite the change, true friends will always be like a house under renovation; different in a familiar and predictable way, a change welcome to most, unwelcome to few.

But I have also returned to surprises, surprises for myself, for others, and in the most unlikely places of all, a glimmer of hope that my destiny can be shaped by the entrance of another significant figure in my life. Fear, vulnerability and of course the potential for pain lay awaiting your every move.

I have returned as a man able to shape my own destiny, my own fate.
If I am to follow a happy and joyful path, My spirit and I need to step back and view the outcomes; the destination of happiness requires a path to be built that I have never trod before. Now as I lie awake, thinking of you, I demolish my previous paths in my mind, reconstructing them in the hope you might like to join me just for a while in my pursuit of happiness

Giving In

Defeat - a word that sits bittersweet in the mouth.

Bitter because it hurts to know the outcome that you believe is the right one doesn't work out

"What can you change? Sometimes the cards dealt are in your favour, sometimes they are not."

Sweet, because the suffering you put yourself through can begin, but also eventually end. But filling the void that defeat leaves isn't easy. Substances diffuse out, burning the void deeper and deeper.

Staying happy and positive is a challenge, but manageable at first. 

Slowly and slowly, hand after hand, cards stop falling your way. 

The loved ones we miss fade away, their memories growing thinner and thinner, more transparent.

People we need to support us buckle, unknowingly how much their support means to you

Your happiness becomes a pursuit that fades into a limp, the tough, happy, upbeat exterior seems superficial and pointless. Slowly, your laugh gets quieter and quieter, the glow of your spirit grows dimmer and dimmer still. 

Defeat slowly chips away from your spirit and becomes a force that is eventually unstoppable. Knocking you off your feet and pushing you towards the gaping hole in your spirit you've tried to fill. Fighting, but like all unstoppable forces, you are powerless to resist as you face the edge of the void you created.

Finally, the instant before the final surge against you hits, you give up.

You fall, letting your own darkness consume you

Sleepless Night

Sometimes a sleepless night can seem to never end. The infinite amount of thoughts free in your head, roaming left and right to drag your attention away from sleep begin to burn questions into your mind, fears into your being, coldness into the very core of spirit.

"What have I done that was wrong?"

The days event's mulled over and over in your mind, like reruns of a terrible film you are forced to watch unfold over and over and over until your stomach feels so heavy and dense you know the urge to be sick approaches

"Have I said something again?"

You trace the words you said over and over, remembering each facial expression your words caused, the frowns, the wry smiles. Baffled you lie - there were no awkward silences, no offensive statements that escaped your lips today.

"What is wrong with me?"

You say that as a statement more so than a question. You know all the things that are wrong with you. Your imperfections, your twisted sense of humour, your arrogance, the list is endless. But you hid all of these things today. You were PERFECT. Not a single part of the persona you displayed today was wrong.

"Did I do anything right?"

Now you frantically search for any sign that you have a chance, a shot, a magic bullet that might possibly convince another chance. Redemption. One last opportunity to convince everyone you interacted with today that you are a good person.

"Good person. I may be a good person, but I'm not a good enough person. Knowing that makes the wish for sleep a light in the distance. An illusive beacon on the horizon"

By this point of the night, (as ever insomniac knows) if you find relief in sleep, then you will wish to never wake again

Swallowing Myself

Its incredible how viewing yourself in a new light changes your perspective on things.
Cutting your hair a different way can give you the chance to show off the flair you deserve to have recognised
Dressing like a celebrity and smiling like a camera is always on you boosts your self esteem when you need it the most
And a morning run can make you feel like all your problems, the stupid things you've done can be left behind. The morning coffee you sip while you eat your breakfast can help you swallow your pride, giving you the power to change for the better.

If I swallowed my arrogance, quietened down rather than drowning others out with my loud compensating extroverted behavior, would I get a chance to redeem myself?
I could silence the critics in my head and their beliefs of me being an unstable mess by holding down a stable, loving, caring commitment. I could spoil you, cherish you, make you the queen of everything you see if I was given the chance, a blessing, the nod of approval.

"Pour my soul into the cup and I will drink until I am all gone. Take me as your own, do with me what you wish"

As I swallow my own spirit, nearing the bottom of my cup, wave after wave pours over me, filling the room, washing away my life, filling my lungs.

"She'll take your head, and pull you under. When you awake, drowning, she'll be yours. But you will be gone"

Hating One's Self/ The Real Me

God, I hate myself sometimes.

Simply put I am a sub standard version of the person I desire to be, but I do not pursue or alter my behavior in any way to make myself better.
I swear too much, over the pettiest things, I get so raw with my emotions and so frustrated within myself that it burns. I lose control, I get scared and panic fills me. I count in my head and hold my breath...

                Then in an instant I am a calm ocean after the devastating storm, settled, predictable. I hate my split personalities - the two personas constantly fighting to be the victim of the standards set way too high of my conscience.

I hate how I allow myself to be vulnerable; be that vulnerable to daydreaming about the things that cannot be, or the things that once were that will never return
I hate myself so much that I almost don't care if I hurt myself, the seeming arrogance seen on the outside is just a way to inflate my ego so someone can bring me crashing down to reality.
I wish that I could accept who I was at heart and allow myself to just erase all the opinions and statements people make about me. Because I may seem like a loud, extroverted person, oozing confidence.

But the real me is shy, daydreaming in the corner, keeping to themselves with a tiny smile. He is loving, compassionate, honest and kind and he would never do you any harm.
The problem is that he hasn't met anyone for what feels like a lifetime.

Letting another person in deep enough to see who I really am; beyond how messed up everything else is from my messed up past to the certainty of my messed up future, is a scary thought. But given the chance, the real me would take over and my split personalities would stop being bruised by my impossible-to-please conscience and make way for the real me.

I can make you happy, I can make anyone feel like they are the only person in the world that matters.
If you ever meet the real me, the chances are that I have already begun falling for you and all the amazing things you have

So when you meet the real me and I do fall, please, please catch me

The Key

Beginning to take pride and joy out of the small things is reconstructing my spirit. Things such dressing like a millionaire in second-hand clothes and walking in the sun brings a genuine smile to my face. Other things like sharing my favorite music with a friend as if each lyric is an untold story belonging to my soul helps smooth over the cracks of my fragile mind, gradually reinforcing who I am.

I might not have a net worth of 10 figures, but I have experiences, memories and a future surrounded by the people who make me feel like I've made progress. In the end you might not need a jetski to be happy; being yourself and loving everyone around you is enough for me

My Mask

Calm is a sensation I rarely display, let alone feel. On the rare occasion where my outside appearance is collected, often my insides are screaming deafening curses in my ears

"Why even bother to believe in yourself? You stand and fight like a pathetic lamb trying to delay your inevitable slaughter. I give it seconds before the seemingly impregnable cracks expand into bottomless canyons of doubt"

While my mind and conscience wrestle, I will myself to remain calm. I try everything, anxious thoughts filling my head, quivering my lip, peeling my calm mask away

And then you arrive. Knocking on my daydream door with perfect timing once again. The violent waves crashing against the fragile walls of my being settle into calmer waters. I picture us moving gently on a lake, alone and happy. For a moment, the soothing sensation releases my bluff and I am actually displaying the emotion I feel around your beautiful smiling face

"Let's stay here, alone and free; we can be wherever you want to be. If you want to climb the highest mountain or swim the widest river we can"

The cold grip of reality yanks me from our meetings in my daydreams, however calm I may be when our spirits meet, the moment you disappear I get momentarily transported to that chilling March morning, where all the pain and suffering inside me exploded, crippling my spirit with the constant anxiety of your loss.

Then after my brief flashback I find myself back in to the present. Where my calm mask slips from my face and shatters into an uncountable amount of anxious pieces

Shells

I am a flawed person - I am an imperfect creature that is capable of destruction, pain and utter dismay.  I have evolved to have a coarse outer layer that deliberately disagrees with people and shapes their opinions of me.
I can seem like a loud, extroverted personality that thrives on the company of others, as if to say that I reject the quiet comfort and the beautiful silences introverts yearn for.
But under all the layers of my shell is a quiet, shy persona - only a select few will ever get to meet him; for he is a part of myself that has felt the pain and destruction I am capable of in full force.
If you ever meet this side to me you will see that I am also capable of compassion, loyalty and love. Even the hardest of shells remains soft on the inside

Square One

Oh how I miss the burn, the delight and the dimming of the inner cry that only the bottle, needle or the vial can bring. One moment you have it all at your feet, a comforting numb happiness that you understand only when its gone - snatched from your grasp by something totally out of your control
Who can you turn to? The world leans on you like a beggar against an ancient Roman pillar; and like the pillar you feel your insides turning to stone - the comfort in your numbness turns to black and white - the world around you fades to a grey backdrop and you are surrounded by the loneliness and silence that is deafening around you

"At first I thought my black and white world was beautiful"

Light slowly seeps from my world, the numbness aches in my hauntingly beautiful dreams that you visit. The red tinge to your spirit is the only other hue my world seems capable of expressing; I remain unsure as to weather it is a symbol of your ongoing suffering, a symbol of my love and yearning for you, or a symbol for my blood; the blood I wish so eagerly to spill to be reunited with you

"Now my world has evolved, personified. We dance around each other, appearing as a pair to the outside world, however in reality I am being consumed and manipulated like a puppet, my world is now my cage"

Now I try anything to free myself from the enclosure that is my reality and my dreams. My spirit stumbles along the journey like a crippled fighter, refusing to fall but awaiting for that final crippling blow that will push me to commit to the darkness consuming me. Bottles are drained, horrific thoughts and beliefs spill onto canvases of sight and sound, physically and metaphysically. I keep fighting the urge, yet awaiting the final blow to release me from my prison.

"Now we are one - I am consumed by my world, its desires are mine. Aimlessly I wander, longing for my imprisonment to end - but each thought of her face adds centuries to my already infinite sentence in this darkness. Not even the bright red that signifies the presence of your spirit can light my way forward. I remain stuck on square one"

Desperate I am to try to escape, to chase the light that seemingly exists at the end of the tunnel. But I cannot see it. I remain stuck in evenings with strangers, with many smiling friendly faces that I push away, introversion the only thing appealing to my battered spirit. I think back to when we were united in this somewhere. I long for the comfortable happiness I miss.
So honest and perfect
So pure and adored
No more

"At last I raise my glass - with an Hallelujah.
Hallelujah until I am nothing
Hallelujah until she is everywhere
Hallelujah until together we are somewhere beyond the first square." 

I move on alone - waiting for my next life to arrive and sweep me away from the persona of the pillar that remains like an ironic deformity in my being
In my next life I can drown in all the bottles, vials and powder I please - I will not be the strong one holding another's world up.
I will be the drunken beggar curled up at its base, pleading with anyone who will listen to free me from myself.
However even in the next life I can already see the stifling cruelty; nobody knows my history - they only see a helpless drunk stuck in his alcoholic prison. Stuck in his own depressing ways.
They cannot see me, begging to be dragged away from the pillar; begging for the thrust towards the light; begging to crawl out of square one.

Rose Tainted Glasses

In the end I guess I'm just a monochromatic, melodramatic man who, despite  the insides and outsides of self portraits, could never understand the complexes of reality that get seen through the rose tainted glasses he wears. The truth is, looking at life is a difficult thing to do when you can easily glance toward the wrong place at the wrong time and witness a sight that changes the very core of your spirit and your beliefs. In the end it might not be reasonable to view the world in such an optimistic light - often when I reflect on my perspective of the world I understand that I need to do a lot of growing up.

However I would rather look at the world and see happiness, despite how small it may find its form, than to look at the reality with no filter and have the joy sucked from my core