I felt bad coming, sadness and depression and hate and rage and death. I still feel it and I ignore it. Like it’s banging on the door and it’s calling me muffled and I’m drifting through this empty house ignoring it. It finds cracks and slips fingers in, grazes the back of my neck, sends chills down my spine, embeds thoughts of destruction and solitude and helplessness. I walk away, walk away, keep walking away. Go through the motions. I’m happy. I’m happy. I’m happy. Believe it. I’m happy. Feel it. Feel light and well and that I’m doing the right thing. It’s not real. None of it’s real. I have no reason to feel bad. Step away, step out of shadows, feel it’s presence draw back. Believe it. Accept it. Embrace the light.
But it’s there again. It finds me again. Persistent despite its lack of reason and it’s calling me and it’s tempting. The pain is tempting. Familiar. Warm. Like an old friend drawing me back to what once was, what I have been, what I could so easily be again. And I’m tempted.
I don’t move. Let it find my heart. Feel the lump in my throat. The burn in my veins. The everything that tells me I should be and I need to stop. Existing. Fight it.
I’m calm. I seem calm. I’m anything but. I’m scared. I’m still scared. I’m always scared.
Ignore it.
It’s not real.
It’s not real.
It’s still not real.
It’s an illness. It’s feeding on you. Don’t let it. Don’t feed it. Don’t feed it. Let go. Find you. Find yourself. Find your truth. Find it. Hold it. Don’t let go. Hold it. Focus. Breathe. See you. Feel you. Accept you. Find real. Find true. Take it’s hand and hold tight. That monster can touch you. But not really. Can scare you. Can try to take you. But it is just voices in the dark and it is not you. You are more. So much more. You are light and life and laughter and music and everything. Everything. Everything it is not.
It might stay there. Watching through the windows. It might get as close as to touch you now and then. But that’s all it can do.
What’s a touch to dancing in the light with yourself?