Mask of conformity and existence

Mask of conformity and existence

Mask of conformity and existence

At what point do you throw your hands in the air and admit defeat?  How many walls do you have to slam your head into before you say, “It’s all too hard?”  How many times does the rug have to be pulled from under your feet before you walk away from a dream?

In this “City of Opportunity” it seems the opportunities are all too few.  

Too qualified. Not qualified enough.  Too soon.  Too late.  Not enough experience.  Too much experience.  Not well enough connected.  Too ‘alien’.  

A roller-coaster day of possibilities, slammed into oblivion one-by-one.  The result is a feeling of deflation, exhaustion, loneliness, and incompetence.  The energy required to pick myself up, and dust myself off is lacking.  The buffeting waves of optimism followed by decimation has left me drowning in self-doubt.  When will I ever reach the calm shores of contentment and usefulness?  Is it even possible?

As I sit here trying to discern rational from irrational, real from delusion, truth from falsehoods, I find myself sinking deeper into a pit of confusion.  I’m not sure what to do, where to go, who to see, and yet, all the while my dream is disintegrating before my eyes.   Years of work seem to have evaporated and mean nothing.  My direction, once marked by a line of bright checkpoints has been eradicated – sabotaged?  I’m back in the dark with no purpose, no meaning, no reason, and no desire.

If this is not the path I should be on, where exactly should I be?  If everything that led me here has guided me to the wrong place, where did I lose direction?  See, even my belief in ‘what’s meant to be will be’ has deserted me, and left me wondering at my abandonment – what did I do wrong?

Sit and connect - man, how many times have I heard that advice, given it to others?  Why is it not working?  

Constrained and restrained, that’s how I would describe how I feel when I try to ‘sit and connect’.  Tied down.  Buried alive.  Suffocating.  

Even if I had the desire to fight and gasp for air, I don’t think it’s going to help much.  Besides, is there much point?  Perhaps it is better to medicate, take the edge off, dull the ‘reality’ to a manageable blur and become a malleable being, easily directed by others to achieve their own, unknown ends?

Perhaps… yes, perhaps it is better to be in a drug-induced obedience, happy to just float along, without purpose or direction.  Perhaps that is what has led me to where I am?

So, the problems are not resolved – can they be?  Regardless, it is best to bury them deep, reconstruct the big black box, and put on the mask of conformity and existence.  We won’t speak of these matters again… No, it’s best not to.  To say anything to anyone will lead to platitudes and clichés – “you’ll be right, mate,” “tomorrow’s another day,” “plenty more fish in the sea,” “don’t be silly,” “just get on with it.”

The others are coming.  It’s time for tea.  Buck up, stiff upper lip, and all that jazz.  No one wants to be around a sour puss with a long face.  

I’d best get going then, sorry to be a pain and pour all my craziness onto you.  Forget I said anything, it’s all pretty stupid anyway, right.  Very sorry, but I do have to run…

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Unfinished Anxiety

The darkness descends

The darkness descends

This is another unfinished piece I discovered in an abandoned notebook…

The dark sense of impending doom enveloped Jacinta like a thick, woollen cloak, drawn tight against the chilling wind of a mid-winter’s night.  Its weight was familiar, and Jacinta no longer panicked when the darkness descended.  She was exhausted from trying to fight it.

Jacinta had seen its approach from a distance.  She had recognised the subtle signs oppression was imminent.  There was nothing she could do to prevent its descent.  Her only hope was to cocoon her sanity from the onslaught and keep breathing.

Her stomach rolled and tumbled like closthes in a dryer, and Jacinta’s hands were clammy with sweat.  She wasn’t sure what horrors were headed her way, but every fibre of her being knew something more than bad was going to happen.  Jacinta’s heart thudded a drum roll, waiting for the winning terror to be revealed.  her breath was short and shallow with anticipation….

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An unexpected trip home

There's nothing like going home.

There’s nothing like going home.

Over the last few months, the initial excitement of moving halfway across the country has been replaced by homesickness.  This was alleviated slightly when my daughter came to visit a couple of weeks ago, but I was still missing the warm, sunny days and natural beauty of my home state.

Fast forward to nine days ago, and an incredible opportunity to return ‘home’ for a week presented itself.  This unexpected turn of events allowed me to spend the last seven days with my daughter and other family members in, what most would consider, my home town.

All too quickly the time has disappeared and today brings with it a series of flights as I make my way home.

For a week I have not had the constant nagging of homesickness.  I have been particular about committing everything I have seen, felt, and experienced to memory to take with me, in the hope these memories will see me through the next few months until I again make the trip north to be with family and friends.

The first leg of my journey home this morning provided another unexpected bonus.  Heavy fog at my first destination had resulted in a delay for incoming flights, so our pilot had been instructed to ‘go slow’, and the result was our plane zig-zagged its way down the Queensland coast.  For me, this meant I got to soak up the scenery – the bright blue of the ocean, the magnificence of Fraser Island from the air, the patchwork of crops below, the beautiful river systems, the dimples, ridges, and dots of the coastal mountains, the deep greens and blues of the Great Dividing Range, and the general beauty of ‘home’.

Don’t get me wrong, South Australia is beautiful, and my partner and I are enjoying our exploration of our new surroundings, but there is nothing like the sights and sounds of the countryside so familiar to me it might well be part of my genetic code.  In the same way seeing my daughter brings lightness to my heart, seeing the land I know, and love, so well brings a sense of peace, happiness, and security to my soul.

It will soon be time to start the second leg of today’s journey, and I am carrying luggage that cannot be checked-in, or even recognised by anyone else.  I am taking with me an indescribable feeling of connection and revitalisation – things that I have been missing so much in the last few months.

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Tricks of the mind

Tricks of the mind

Tricks of the mind

Sometimes you feel you are all alone.

Sometimes you think no one cares.

Sometimes it seems no one is listening.

Sometimes it seems everyone glares.

But, sometimes it’s just our minds

that tells us we’re neglected,

tricking us into believing we are worthless, 

not worthy of being loved.

It is our mind that blinds us

to the truth of how much others care

and to all the little signs that are there.

If only we can understand the misery of existing

that we think is enveloping us, eating us alive,

really is our imagination.

Perhaps it is a remnant of the way we learnt to cope,

of how we blamed ourselves in order to make sense

of what seemed senseless and irrational.

Not until we understand what is real is really not,

can we open our minds to the signs and signals

of the true feelings of others. 

I can see you are struggling, feeling isolated,

as though you alone have experienced such abuse,

but you are not alone, there are many others.

You will see this for yourself, if you stand up to your mind

and question yourself about who is abusing you now.

Your abuser has gone, but you don’t know this yet

because your mind has carried on the task

and continues beating you to death.

One day you will see, that you do this to yourself,

that your abuser no longer has control

and the power is in you to overcome

the never-ending suffering of an inability to receive love.

Yes, love was once dangerous, but that was not real love,

that was a sickness, manifesting in disguise

through a person devoid of enough intelligence

to understand, or to care, or to devise

an appropriate way of dealing with their own incapacity

to love or be loved.

But you are stronger than that, and so much more wise,

and you can overcome the tricks of your mind,

because you have the power and the knowledge,

deep inside.

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Where are the words?

Where are the words?

Where are the words?

What am I scared of?

There is an endless pool of words waiting to be written, but they refuse to take to the page.  The only emotion that surfaces during the process is terror – why?

It has been about four weeks since I worked on either of my books, and to say my posting on this blog has basically been non-existent is possibly an understatement.

Initially I could blame being busy, technical difficulties, exhaustion – but…

I am determined to make some progress today.  I don’t care how it happens, words will be written!

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