Struggling to sleep – the night is an all too familiar refrain,
The ceaseless conversations overwhelming my mind,
His voice always piercing, always breaking through the din,
The laugh always mocking who I was, who I’ve become,
That face ever taunting, ever gloating, always judging,
I blink imploring for some release, some distraction,
Alas the eternal vision persists, mocking my sanity,
The eyes glaring, judging, satisfied at what I’ve become,
“Shut up!” The laugh, never allowing me a moment of solitude,
Clenching my eyes the eternal vision persists,
Failure, pathetic, weak – the labels swirl in my unquiet mind.

Lurching my body upright I stare through the blackness,
My breathing is short, shallow and tight in my chest,
My hands trembling, my eyes consumed with horror,
Swallowing hard I sense the ever present knife,
This time not a razor-edge between life and death,
But a choice between life and his domination of my sanity,
Why do I let him control my decisions, make me so weak,
How is it I make choices simply to defy the bastard,
Why am I overwhelmed with guilt and shame,
Every time I ask for help, set foot in the therapist’s office,
How is it that I believe he has won over me.

~Mark Bere Peterson (2013)

Advertisements