https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=in_Oyywwqa0
This weeks task was to listen to the attached piece of music and then ; from the first note to the last beat – then stop. Whatever came to mind – harvest the words and edit your words in any form you like and there’s your creation!
It was the voices, which led me here.
It’s for your own good they said.
My good I queried or your good?
Then the lights went out and here I am stuck between this world and my reality.
What do you do when the world turns upside down, sound becomes overwhelming, people unbearable idiots who prattle on about normal behaviour when you know all you did was shift a few table and chairs. The trouble was I apparently did it with more conviction than was necessary and the heads that got caught in the way as I shifted were collateral damage as it turned out.
All that energy my counsellor said all that energy and for what?
I have asked myself the same question and received conflicting answers. Its what happens when I ask myself questions I seem to have no end of answers coming at me from unknown sources inside my head.
Sometimes its gets totally confusing and what happens happens.
How do I explain the conflicting notions I have at any one time. I want to scream one minute, cry the next, laugh, wonder why the fuss when I look up and see three orderlies holding me down, it’s a shame I cannot harness all this that is happening into some profitable worthwhile cause.
That boy’s got the demon my grandmother used to say. She’d look at me often terrified by some mindless act I had just committed and look at my mother and let fly with her theories on why I had become a wayward child.
My mother was the only one who believed in me. She’d pick me up from the police station, take me home, feed me, tell me to go to bed and we’d talk about it in the morning. But the morning never came because at some point in the night I’d be out the window and off roaming the streets looking for something, anything to entertain myself.
Of course it got me into a lot of trouble. Mindless acts of violence they said. Lock him up and throw away the key. Juvenile detention then mainstream detention where I mixed with some very nasty bastards who made me realise I wasn’t as bad as I thought.
But I couldn’t control it. The argument in my head was constant.
Do it, hit, smash, do it, crash ‘em, belt him, do it, who gives a…., hit, smash, crash, belt, kick, do it, who cares?
I lost track of who the real me was. There was this never-ending battle going on inside of me tearing at me, ripping at me. Despite my life long confusion and powerlessness to understand my behaviours I raged on out of control.
Now I’m here where there are moments of lucidity. When I think I remember who I once was. The drugs, the therapy, the sense that one part of me is over it but there are too many other bits jumping up and down demanding attention, banging on the bars of my mind, destroying me bit by bit. I wonder if I can get back or if there is even a back to get to.
My counsellor here is good to me.
I like it when they are good to me, means I have space, and space gives the plotters within me a chance to plan, plot their own path, play the game, watch and learn, gather and be informed before I……….oh my but did you hear that, read what I just said, who are you I ask, what do you want I ask?
When I ask that question which is not very often for it is easy to play along, let nature take its course, I get this collective sort of chorus going off in my head as the voices unite to let me know where I stand or rather sit in their scheme of my demise. As if I am my own living Greek drama they chorus as one:
YOU!
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/07/10/tale-weavers-prompt-16-shortfuse/
Morpethroad 