The Sponge

For a long time I was empty inside, impoverished of thought, passion, meaning, certainty.
My head was vacant like a derelict building, haunted with unfulfilled ambition and a purpose, long since lost.
Sometimes I would get a thought or idea and it would roll back and forth in the walls of my mind like a lonely child’s ball and I would start to obsess over it, replaying it over and over like a cave with a single echo bouncing to and fro, loud and then fading and back louder still.
But nothing would come of it, I was no wiser, no braver, no less stagnant.
Then as unpredictable as a lightning bolt I would find a flash of inspiration, an idea, a solution, a glimmer of hope; something that seemed to fall out of the sky and swoop down and gather me in its arms and carry me off to safety! My saviour.
And I would absorb everything I could about this cure, this tonic, this gift and I would follow it everywhere blindly and consume every single bit of it. I would read and research and explore and embrace it all and immerse myself in its faithful followers and I soaked up every last bit of it like a sponge. And as its intoxicating power built up momentum it became me and I became it and I gave it everything; to the point where I over indulged in it, to the brink of purging, like a sickly wave of chemically induced euphoria!
And then it stopped working for me... just like that. My muse had left me.
I felt let down, mocked and deeply betrayed and exploited for my weakness, my naivety. And like a wet sponge I was left feeling so heavy and bogged down and aching to be held close and squeezed... And then I realised that the power of the sponge is that it also has the ability to ring out, to lose its load, to expel its haul and ping back into its original shape and be dry and light and fluffy and free again within moments.
And so I sweated it out. Every last fibre of me that believed in that saviour, that muse, that discipline, that practise, it oozed out of me and drained away and was forgotten. Until I myself was free again.
Wandering amongst the other seekers; the helpless, haunted, forgotten.

Add your reaction
  • 0
  • 0
  • 0
  • 0

Ugly thoughts

Please note: this story references suicide. I was wearing a scarf earlier and I had to take it off because I started to hear the thoughts again, 'Kill yourself'... It creeps in amongst the normal thoughts like 'I'd better go and do the dish...

read more
Tags:
suicide,
borderline personality disorder
  • 1
  • 0
  • 0
  • 0

Seeing the psychiatrist when they don't see you.

My usual psychiatrist is off sick. 'You don't seem emotionally unstable to me at the moment' said the Dr, who I'd sat with for under half an hour. Yeah mate, that's not really what Emotionally Unstable/Borderline Personality Disorder is. You shou...

read more
Tags:
Diagnosis,
EUPD
  • 1
  • 0
  • 1
  • 1

Night Time

I wake myself up crying, the real primal kind, where the tears don't come before the wailing, and the writhing in the pit of the stomach. I curl up in fetal position, as if folding myself in half will somehow squeeze out the pain, or maybe...

read more
Tags:

Endings

EndingsA happy endingIs what I'm sendingTo all who have travelledAnd all who have babbledTo all who have spokenAnd to all who've been brokenIf a new chapter, with laughterIs what y...

read more
Tags:
T
  • 0
  • 0
  • 1
  • 0

The Heroic Journey

The Heroic JourneyA/My Heroic JourneyA Hero's To Do ListToday - as they say"Do the right thing and the right thing will happen"Although as you may know, "Billy don't be a Hero" ..;.

read more
Tags:
taking,
control
  • 0
  • 0
  • 1
  • 0

Vulnerability

VulnerabilitySelf talk/choices/affirmations, poetry... Vulnerability...You show me yours, and I'll show you mineIf we cannae find it, we will be fine...We can take our timeWho knows what will happen, down ...

read more
Tags:
Self,
Vulnerability.
  • 0
  • 0
  • 1
  • 0