Smoke finally clearing As our love lies smashed to pieces In ruin, I stand among the rubble “It’s over,” logic tells me. “There’s no repairing this…“ “Not this time…”
Time to finally move on And drift out of each other’s lives To become memories and recounted stories Perhaps even wonders of what might have been On some quiet future nights When the heart is feeling restless But nothing more than that.
I start heading outward But can’t help but find myself stopping And picking up the pieces of our scattered castle Holding them in my hands.
Memories of cooking together Shared laughter by the fire Dog walks in the woods Soft kisses on the cheek
One by one, I pick them up And thoughts of rebuilding Soon enter my foolish mind As I stand alone in this wasteland Studying the fractured remains Occupying this empty space These fingers numb with the feeling Of knowing some things can’t be fixed
Growing older, it’s so easy to sink into slumber The sofa groove; the spiritual chamber The suppressed desires and unspoken words It’s so easy to accept the weight of the adult world And let those slumped shoulders form As you stand with the others on the assembly line.
But do the radical thing And nurture the parts inside yourself In whatever way that keeps those eyes shining And letting that mouth speak words of meaning As you continue on your truest path Shaking off the forces that want you To become another background character Bitterly beeping in life’s traffic jam.
Do the radical thing. And love yourself unashamedly Don’t submit to mindless drudgery Nor let the bottle or the pills Numb you to a conditioned reality.
Let the sanctity of solitude Remind you who you are; Let the rhythm of happiness Flutter in your heart.
Be someone that your child self Would look up to and delight in And nurture a life in which you live naturally A life in which you live with integrity,
Tired of not blooming anymore Tired of being over the best part Looking at those sullen eyes Those shrugged shoulders Feeling that emptiness within As the sunlight doesn’t reach the important spaces.
Tired of being on the wrong path And knowing I took a wrong turn somewhere Yet not doing anything about it.
Tired of speaking words I don’t mean And sleepwalking down these streets Being a productive member of society While my soul lies in some deep sleep.
I want to grab it and awaken it And run out the front door with wild eyes And feel these words come more easily.
I want to go back to a place in time When writing came before working And I didn’t care so much about money Or that stupid fear of the future.
I want to break free from this post-youth winter That has frozen my spirit.
I really want to do it But the frost grows thicker And as the days continue to drift by passively As I stare into the vacant eyes of strangers And that silent sadness begins to take over I realise that something must be done.
Staring up at the sky and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness Searching for those satellites in between the stars While standing on a rooftop in Las Palmas Wondering how I ended up here, again, My days of drifting not quite over But knowing I am definitely older now And yes, I miss the youthful me That renegade rascal who reveled in life’s bright lights.
Somehow it doesn’t quite hit the same anymore I mean, those starry skies still look the same The ocean shoreline still looks the same And the sangria still tastes delicious But the sense of soul-searching adventure While coming of age on life’s rollercoaster Is different.
Somehow I am adjusted to it all The sights, the sounds, the conversations And the things that once caused butterflies to flutter in my stomach Well, they now feel like crickets chirping in my brain.
There is a still quietness on this side of town.
And as my eyes finally adjust to the darkness And I look at the satellites instead of the stars I wonder if I will ever behold the blazing light Of youth and adventure again.
Another night of laying there unable to sleep. Another night of watching the hours go by as dawn approached, knowing I’d face the world even more sleep-deprived than the day before. Such a situation was nothing new to me. Insomnia had been ravaging my life for years by the time I was in my thirties. It came and went, but at its worst I’d get just a couple of hours of disturbed sleep a night. Sometimes I’d get none. Slowly it would snowball out of control until my mental state was dark, depressed, and delirious. At my very worst, I would even slip into psychosis and begin to have auditory and visual hallucinations. I would be totally exhausted and broken – a pitiful wretch – and all I needed was to simply sleep to fix myself, but I would lay there each night undergoing psychological torture, totally unable to switch off and get the thing my soul was screaming for. One time I got so frustrated I started banging my head against a wall in a desperate attempt to knock myself out. That’s when I realised the severity of the disorder that was violently destroying my life.
It’s now the start of 2024 as I begin this year in this all-too-familiar way. I partly have myself to blame for it, having gone on a weekend bender in Dublin three weeks before. Whenever my routine is disturbed by drinking and late nights, I usually end up spiralling into a state of sleep-deprivation. I guess I should have accepted by now that my partying days are behind me with this paralysing condition, but it’s been hard to let go of all the fun things that filled my youth. So, here I am three weeks on, battling a disease of the mind that no one else can see and only a few can understand. Still, the start of a new year presents the opportunity to start fresh and mark out some targets. Maybe I’ll quit drinking, I say to myself. Maybe I’ll finally get this condition under control. Strict sleeping times and healthy practices. No more partying until dawn. It’s a nice idea that I commit myself to with a sense of vigour and hope. A man can always use the concept of a new year to try and start afresh; even if it’s just a temporary delusion, sometimes that’s what one needs in order to keep marching into another year of existence.
For now though I lay in my room, hiding from the outside world which seemed far too unbearable when one hadn’t slept properly in weeks. I guess it was a good place to be considering that storms had been battering the country for weeks. I couldn’t help but listen to that heavy wind and rain like I was listening to a representation of my turbulent mental state. The nearby river continued to rise as I felt a growing gloom about my life, as if a sprawling swamp surrounded me with sinister creatures lurking somewhere in the shadows. Each year life got considerably harder and I was left wondering how I’ve even made it this far without drowning altogether. I took refuge in the fact that there was obviously some sort of strength inside of me that had kept me fighting off my demons throughout the years – whether that be depression, anxiety, alienation, insomnia, or general madness. However, I didn’t feel as strong and brave as I once did, and things were only getting harder as that river continued to rise and the current got stronger. I could feel my insides shaking; my nervous system vibrating with anxiety. I wondered how the hell I was ever going to get by in this world with my mental health problems and unemployability and the rising cost of living and everything that just seemed to make being a human-being a stupidly difficult and unrealistic task.
I couldn’t let myself get bogged down in a million worries at once, so I set a step by step guide to get out of the darkness first. The first thing I needed was sleep so I focused on fixing that by staying away from booze, meditating, and having set bedtimes. It took a few days but I eventually felt able to head out and face the world. I ran alongside the flooded river; I breathed in the air; I went shopping in the supermarket for healthy foods. Slowly I started to feel somewhat like a human-being again. The next step involved the ever-present necessity of money. I needed a job after my last one decided to let me go a few weeks before Christmas. I started searching and sending out applications. As always, I looked for the most straightforward jobs possible – menial factory or warehouse roles that required you to do just a couple of repetitive tasks. That’s about all I could manage at this point. Perhaps that was my ceiling. I was an autistic daydreamer after all, and my limited capacity for work was hard to ignore when reflecting on my job history.
Although jobless, I was at least getting some income being on government unemployment benefits. It required me to attend meetings with a work coach to tell them the steps I was taking in seeking employment. My last one was at the height of my insomnia when my anxiety was through the roof, and I was unfortunate to be met with a guy who grilled me and got me to apply for terrible call centre roles in which I wouldn’t last more than a few days. This time I was better prepared and lucky enough to be met with a woman who clearly didn’t care as much about her job as the previous guy. Perhaps she too knew what a joke it all was. I sat there describing some jobs I’d applied for, as well as some vague future employment goals. She typed some things into a computer and nodded her head as I accepted my place as a misfit and liability in this society. The tedious process plodded on and eventually came to a merciful end.
I then headed back out into the streets of Nottingham city centre. I walked around and saw them all surrounding me again: the normal, civilised faces of humanity. Presentable people with careers and cars and credit scores and shoe collections. People ready to continue on along the treadmill of a normal, sane life – mortgages and marriages; security and stability. The separation from everyone else all was as strong as ever. It was a new year, but it seemed it was the same old me – wandering the world like some sort of alien that had been cast away on planet earth. Still, I reminded myself that I had a beautiful girlfriend; that I was consistently looking for work; that I was twenty hours into learning to drive. Perhaps this year would be different. Perhaps this year I’d finally smoothen and straighten out. I couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the ‘new year, new me’ optimistic delusion was taking effect once again.
I continued walking towards home until I reached the river. I stopped and sat down on a bench beside it. The water levels had dropped back down to normal and the winter sunshine twinkled upon the surface. I let myself breathe and observed the pleasant scene before me, watching a flock of birds fly along the river and happy dogs stroll along the pathway. It was a place I had experienced great peace before and, after a few minutes, I noticed that peace there in my soul once again. I felt my inner anxiety being alleviated – all the thunder inside being replaced by a loving, radiant light that had filled me before. Despite my current troubles, I knew that it was a beautiful world, and that I really did belong to it – even if I felt out of place in society. Slowly I began to accept myself and where I was in life. Slowly I began to accept that yes – it was a new year, and in reality would never really be a new me, but the best thing I could do was to nurture the part of myself that had guided me to peace and happiness before. At that moment, I made a decision to look after myself a bit better, starting by resisting an offer to go out for drinks that evening. Something inside of me said the way forward this year was as simple as that. My plan wasn’t to conquer the world, or run a marathon, or some specific goal or resolution like that – but to just treat myself with some basic kindness and gentleness. Starting from there, who knew what it would lead to. For when the storm has passed and the destruction has been cast, it seemed the best and only real thing you could do was dust yourself off, pick up the pieces, and let yourself move forward in the direction of the calming and healing light.
Who am I kidding? Trying to be an ordinary person Getting my driver’s licence A girlfriend, a job A routine.
Who am I kidding? Dressing up nicely Tidying my room And calming the fire inside.
It may be suppressed, at times Even dwindling But the spark is always there Waiting to erupt And engulf me again.
Some things are inevitable And who the hell am I kidding Thinking that there will ever be a time When I’m not wading through the sewers And being covered in all the shit That is now seeped into my soul.
I no longer wish to lie to myself Only to face the harsh light That unveils the truth I cannot escape.
Tonight I throw away the mask And stare into the mirror Beholding my scarred, scratched flesh Facing the grim reality Of my maniacal self.
I was never made to be clean I was never made to be normal I was never made to write words That are different from these.
I was made to linger on the outskirts To drift in the darkness And let my own madness Consume me totally.
This truth is unavoidable And please, do not pity me For this act of accepting who you are Gives one a certain freedom in life.
It’s the freedom of unbolting your own cage And letting yourself be unrestrained Wandering in your natural wilderness Your claws sharpened; your eyes wide.
Hear this heart sing Though you try to silence it And wish me to get in line Suppressing my spirit I shall continue to refuse For I know that sanity of yours Is slowly killing you Your tired eyes tell it all Your soul is screaming for music And I do not wish to kill my song too No conformity or career Will put an end to this As this grey world continues You’ll find me dancing within Where my song plays loud Shaking the walls and windows Keeping me thoroughly alive And no amount of knocking at the door Will cause this precious symphony To stop soaring.
I want to say something that has never been said But the reality is that I’m just another man Having the same experience of life as many other men No matter how unique one believes their feelings They have been experienced before by some other poor fool Who couldn’t quite make sense of this crazy world But I’m going to say it anyway:
Born into this fragile skin I was always going to end up scarred But I didn’t expect the cuts to go this deep As I stand here now at the age of thirty-one Still a shaking, shivering mess inside Wondering where the hell it is I belong And how I’m going to find my way through these woods To finally find my place in the sunlight That seems to be there beyond the trees As I look up at that light streaming in, Its presence teasing me almost.
Perhaps a person was never meant to have it all But only to get flickers of the good life Those precious rays that sometimes filter through That touch the skin and widen the eyes Before the darkness of the forest returns And the fight continues.
It’s a Saturday evening and I’m home alone Trying to write a poem I’m listening to ambient music Looking at pretty pictures of sunsets Hoping that inspiration will strike As the words come flooding onto the page.
It’s a strange process that is hard to explain But doing this, instead of being at the bar, Well it gives me the sort of joy That one only gets when they are in touch With something spiritual and sacred.
For some reason I decided to be a writer I’ve been doing it for over ten years now Nothing has really made much sense to me Except when I’m organising words together.
School didn’t come naturally Jobs didn’t come naturally Social life didn’t come naturally But for some reason this did.
And that’s why I’m here tonight Still giving it all that I’ve got Sailing out on the sea of creative thought Lowering my net into the depths And trying to catch a big juicy 200 pound poem to take home And display on my wall.
For now it appears I’ve only caught this one Which, admittedly, isn’t my best But hey, I’m having fun Typing these words Jamming out alone On a Saturday evening.
I’ll think I’ll even crack open a beer As I keep on sailing on this sea Doing the thing which puts everything in the right place Which makes me feel like I’m on that dancefloor Busting my moves and celebrating life In all its strange joy.
Another weekday It’s 9pm again And the temptation to turn on the television And watch some crap appears.
No, I say to myself This is the time to create To write some words And share some truth.
So here I am back at the keyboard Persevering with my poems As my girlfriend learns piano.
What’s the point, I sometimes wonder It’d be so much easier to sink into a groove To find some comedy series And let my mind be numbed After a long day at work.
It does feel good, When the odd good poem comes along But too often it’s just hours Of staring at the screen Starting and deleting sentences Going around and around In your own mind Searching for that something Which you imagine no one else has ever said As you write the poem that changes the world That will cause everyone to become enlightened As the climate crisis is averted And world peace is finally announced.
In reality, you just type more words To post onto your blog To be read by fifteen people Somewhere around the world Whom you’ll never meet Or even message.
Well, look, I guess this is one more poem The third one of the evening, in fact I’m not sure if they’re any good But at least I can feel like I’ve earned An episode of The Simpsons now.
~ A Voice From The Wild ~ 