The End Of Days...

I am tired, drained, and pessimisstic. I have awoke, bleary eyed, and cannot muster enough energy to plan anything for the day, look forward to anything, or be positive.

The 32 month wait to talk to a Psychologist has finally ended, but that too is draining every bit of energy from my being. I talk, she listens, and very well too, I might add, we have a good rapport. She is Professional, confident at her work, and does not offer sympathy, just empathy and understanding, which is the only way to really help me to help myself. The analogy of the 'Give a man a fish...' remains true in this situation also.

She has helped me to understand that by utilising something called, 'Dialectical Behavioural Therapy' I can re-learn how to 'cope' and learn better skills for coping with this fucking, bastard of a world we live in. Due to trauma's in my early childhood, abuses, and neglect, and unstable rearing with separation and rejection from my major male role model, I developed, I had to develop ways of coping. The problem being that my ways of coping have developed into, what can be described as a 'personality disorder'.

As a young child, I was lonely. Following my father leaving and my sexually abusive sister, which was round about the same time. My mother ploughed every scrap of energy she could muster into the critically important housework. 'A tidy house equals a tidy mind!', and 'What would the neighbours think if they came round and saw dust, or dog hairs of dirty plates in the sink?' Yes, I was fucking lonely! So my ways of coping were to immerse myself in my head, and so I developed highly imaginative worlds where I would reside, in safety, away from the horrors of the real world. As an adult, these fantasies disappeared, with each year I grew older, the fantasies went one by one. The tooth fairy, Jack Frost, Santa Claus, the monster in the attic, the little people who lived in the garden, the figurines I had collected from Star Wars figures, Green Army men with rocket launchers that fired matches, to the matchbox cars that skreetched around corners, and knocked down figures, or dolls that I hated...dead, dead, dead! All that was now lost, and part of me died also.

As an adult, I say adult, a pubescent boy, I realised these fantasies could be made to live again, Pinnochio could be a real life boy again! I discovered Drugs, and all the wonderful new doors they opened inside my head, but not all the doors that opened were wonderful, some I wish had never been opened, for they stay forever ajar, with the darkness casting a shadow over every piece of happiness I ever obtain, however short.

Yes, today I am tired, I am weary, but tonight I will be so drunk again that for a fleeting moment, that happiness I remember from the far distant past will come again, and I will pass out, and dream.....

Then tomorrow I rise, and the rollercoaster ride that is my life will begin again ....