Futile. 

I’ve never felt so alone.
And, Ive spent my life feeling alone.
…didn’t know this kind of alone was even possible.

My Own Anxiety.

I can see it as sure as the days are long:

nobody notices how high I am strung;

nobody’s around to sew my mouth shut,

there’s no one here to tell me I’m wrong…

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it becomes clear that this pain is my own,

it is futile to try and lighten the load,

every moment leaves a burden burned into my soul,

unbearable, unthinkable – to any person that I know…

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People like to tell me about this thing “anxiety”,

how it is a mental state that is controlled by me,

the very people that never went without a single thing,

like to tell me how my feelings can be fixed through therapy…

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sure, it helps to talk and write about what’s come to pass,

but nothing alters what I see inside the looking glass,

nothing erases history, or takes a damn thing back,

there is no leaving my breed of grief somewhere in the past.

My, Oh My.

 

It will someday claim,
All I’ve left of these short breaths…
My “anxiety”.

It pains by no name,
Bringer of a thousand deaths…
My old memories.

It’s whipped me to shame,
Jimmied my heart from my chest…
My own mockery.

It’s always the same,
Threatening to take my best…
My PTSD.

“For No Reason”.

Recently, I have been experiencing the old feelings and fears again “for no reason”, according to “Dr. Quackenfuck”…my blood pressure has risen to the terrifyingly high level again; my chest feels as if it’s been cinched inside of a medieval vice or something; even when I’m sitting on my ass and doing nothing – I can’t catch my breath to save my Life.
I am fully aware of the need for those in any medical profession (especially psychology or the like) to resort to the use of the term “for no reason” when they are unable to conclude any other reasonable cause for a given symptom – they have been doing that to me all along because they refuse to accept the REALITY that maybe I’m just simply beyond “fixing”. What the fuck are you supposed to do when your shrink has more faith in your mental state than you do, even deep down when nobody’s looking?
Life, for me, has come once again to a crossroads apparently…one in which I’m facing a decision between sanity and none – between survival and death – between will and abandon. I harbor this strange and indescribable notion lately that I have completed certain things that were necessary to complete prior to any absence of my future presence. I know that sounds drastic and it’s not meant to; I am NOT reaching out for help during a suicidal spiral through this post, I swear. I am stating what’s what – for me as much as it can be for the entertainment of anyone reading this…
I am confused and kinda angry lately; been spitting at the Gods often and cursing their’ being…I feel very resentful and even bitter towards everything that is (or isn’t) taking place in my life. I am not whining about things not happening to my own liking, please trust me…I am NOT the type of person who goes through Life with high expectations of happiness, fulfillment or, even the simplest of comforts, for that matter; I have learned that Life can be a nasty bitch without a second thought towards my own comfort or concerns. I have learned that the only way I am going get through Life will be via the state of complacency with specific truths; and I long-ago gave up on any ideas or daydreams of someday painting my own white picket fences or chasing rainbows into the future. I am real. I am grown. I am titanium against emotional strife; it’s a familiar element of being alive that I have come to master from one day to the next. Not all of these ways are “healthy” i.e. I am a total pothead (and despite regular poetry about alcohol, don’t partake in the LEGAL vice of liquor), I am driven to be highly physically active to the point physical exhaustion as a means of juggling my anxiety-ridden thoughts and keeping them from overtaking my ENTIRE lifestyle, and of course: there’s always my unhealthy adoration for firearms of any kind (but for stress relief shooting, I do prefer a long barrel rifle).
Anyway, I detach emotionally – I withdraw socially – I become paranoid and fearful, jumpy and sketchy…I become enveloped by feelings of distrust towards everyone I know and care about – young and old. I am a fucking train wreck and my shrink refuses to believe it, somehow…he says I have “no reason” to have the wobbles again at this stage of the game…whatever the fuck that means: “this stage of the game”.
Last time I checked, this was no fucking game by any stretch of the imagination…and if he doesn’t start taking me more seriously when I tell him things so extremely difficult to share with another human being that breathes, takes notes, and can repeat words – – – I will not go see him anymore. I will find someone new to traumatize every week, instead.

My, My.

It will someday claim,
All I’ve left of these short breaths…
My “anxiety”.

It pains by no name,
Bringer of a thousand deaths…
My old memories.

It’s whipped me to shame,
Jimmied my heart from my chest…
My own mockery.

It’s always the same,
Threatening to take my best…
My PTSD.

Dig In.

When I have to be,

one of the community,

it exhausts me,

uphill hiking,

non-comprehending,

distrusting,

not even vaguely,

a foreign dialect,

to my hearing;

I just want to scream,

“can we end this meeting?”

so that I can fly solo,

and avoid the battering;

I’m just,

no damned good,

at this group therapy,

sharing of my feelings…

no disrespect,

but I’m gluttonous,

for the punishment,

of these comfortable,

and familiar things.