Releasing Fear
I'm lost, alone, and confused right now and I need someone to care.
So I'm sitting here writing something, any thing. Anything they said, just write anything so long as it gets your mind off the bad thoughts they say. The Bad thoughts The Bad Thoughts! That's all they ever talk about. How's one supposed to hear themselves think if they keep droning on and on about the bad thoughts and how bad they are and why. It foces a person to obsess about them... This! This is supposed to be healing? This is supposed to be therapudic?
My Ass I say!
They argue with their statistics and their logic... what does that prove... I'm the one supposedly "sufferng" from a "disrupting disorder." I'm living it. I know what they see and call "suffering" I know what they define as disruptive. I live breathe and am it, I'm the expert in the field of me. And I can tell you - for a fact - that it's them that need a reality check, they are the ones who need to get their minds off "the bad thoughts!" Lets for once talk about fun stuff, happy trees and butterflies. Lets focus on the good things for a change. But no. You have to "heal" me by making me obsess over it.
It's looming, stretching, rolling over us with every word said. COnsuming and encircling like a great storm-cloud. Darkness, a deep black cloud of fiery rage balled into an inescabable cage which serves no more than to feed the raging beast of a storm within. The bad thoughts linger and loom and wait in their daunting way to attack at any moment, at just the right moment, just the wrong moment. It'll dive in and suffocate good clean honest minds like mine with it's ever growing pollution and it will kill me like that sudden violent rage of a storm would lift from the ground and mutilate a herd of wild horses.
Beasts, tame or untame are no match for it's fury. Raining, raging, rampaging on... it will kill.
...
I remember my first experience with murder. I thought it murder. It was a horse as a matter of coincidental fact. Beautiful Auburn brown. He had a black lustre to him in the evening sun. He ran beautifully. Wild. A broken leg and he had to be shot. I thought the ordeal horrific. Not because he had to be killed; what had to be done had to be done... in those times. what was aweful was the way they did it. After being shot once he wanted no more of it and tried to stand to get away. A full grown horse trying to run on a splintered bone of a leg. It tone bone through his skin as he stumbled and blood everywhere, screaming in pain, shot again and again. The wild passion flared in that horse. Served them right for trying to tame something so beautiful, somethng so wild, serves him right for not letting himself be tamed.
I would tell you what they are you know - the bad thoughts... though for the life of me... I can't remember what they are right now. So instead I'll muse about murder.
...
So I'm sitting here writing something, any thing. Anything they said, just write anything so long as it gets your mind off the bad thoughts they say. The Bad thoughts The Bad Thoughts! That's all they ever talk about. How's one supposed to hear themselves think if they keep droning on and on about the bad thoughts and how bad they are and why. It foces a person to obsess about them... This! This is supposed to be healing? This is supposed to be therapudic?
My Ass I say!
They argue with their statistics and their logic... what does that prove... I'm the one supposedly "sufferng" from a "disrupting disorder." I'm living it. I know what they see and call "suffering" I know what they define as disruptive. I live breathe and am it, I'm the expert in the field of me. And I can tell you - for a fact - that it's them that need a reality check, they are the ones who need to get their minds off "the bad thoughts!" Lets for once talk about fun stuff, happy trees and butterflies. Lets focus on the good things for a change. But no. You have to "heal" me by making me obsess over it.
It's looming, stretching, rolling over us with every word said. COnsuming and encircling like a great storm-cloud. Darkness, a deep black cloud of fiery rage balled into an inescabable cage which serves no more than to feed the raging beast of a storm within. The bad thoughts linger and loom and wait in their daunting way to attack at any moment, at just the right moment, just the wrong moment. It'll dive in and suffocate good clean honest minds like mine with it's ever growing pollution and it will kill me like that sudden violent rage of a storm would lift from the ground and mutilate a herd of wild horses.
Beasts, tame or untame are no match for it's fury. Raining, raging, rampaging on... it will kill.
...
I remember my first experience with murder. I thought it murder. It was a horse as a matter of coincidental fact. Beautiful Auburn brown. He had a black lustre to him in the evening sun. He ran beautifully. Wild. A broken leg and he had to be shot. I thought the ordeal horrific. Not because he had to be killed; what had to be done had to be done... in those times. what was aweful was the way they did it. After being shot once he wanted no more of it and tried to stand to get away. A full grown horse trying to run on a splintered bone of a leg. It tone bone through his skin as he stumbled and blood everywhere, screaming in pain, shot again and again. The wild passion flared in that horse. Served them right for trying to tame something so beautiful, somethng so wild, serves him right for not letting himself be tamed.
I would tell you what they are you know - the bad thoughts... though for the life of me... I can't remember what they are right now. So instead I'll muse about murder.
...
posted by Shannon Hollender @ 1:04 AM
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