Holed up

It’s coming back. I don’t want it to. I want to stifle it ignore it push it kill it. But it never goes away. A few good days. A million bad days. It begs pleads urges forces me to do things say things that I don’t want to. I push everyone away, keep to myself, remain doubled over without a second thought to anyone else. It’s just me. No one can hurt me. If I’m alone, no one can leave me. If I’m alone, no one can hurt me. I push them all away. My mom. My sister. My wife. I barricade myself behind a wall of silence and rage, fear and sadness. Everything comes back to me a gray shadow of its former life. I’m disgusted by the mirror, by the image it casts. The images come flooding back. Violence. Aggression. Anger. Rage. Blood, impact, fractures and teeth. They resided last week, a glimpse of possibility, of hope, crossed my path. But I’ve lost it. I don’t know where it went. But a little piece of me wants it back.

But a big piece of me wants otherwise.