I was in the darkest pit of my mind’s own deep tomb.
I had to use all my resources and still the terror clung.
It seemed like forever, I’d fought to gather all control.
I kicked and squirmed to no avail to leave that filthy hole.
How did it come to be that I, who had tried to be so good.
Had lived through this bleak path of woe, where no one understood.
I loved my pack of Angels, but death scooped them up in the end.
All others wouldn’t bend, unless I played the role, oh then, I was their friend.

They made me think they were listening as I shared my torn soul.
I took in all their pleasant interludes.
We’d laugh and talk, but in the end it was all a hoax.
I’d feel shame, remorse, regret, for the way in which I spoke.
I’d find I never won their love, I was a living joke.

I felt like death warmed over, green around the gills.
I hated them all and hated myself for suffering all these ills.
I would numb the pain of dawn’s clear light, to somehow face the hours to come.
I’d tried to salvage what self esteem I could, I’d draw and write beautiful lines,
and act as I thought I should.

Most of the time my great denial worked, hiding all the pain.
For several weeks I would manage to refrain my hatred.
Till all the world’s injustices moved in on me again.
Then seldom long would it take till hatred would consume.
The blame would be externalized, for never could I admit the shame that sealed my fate.

Days and nights would dimly pass that took a sad and costly toll.
I felt no hope for me - no one seemed to care.
I needed to let go and be left into God’s hand.
Only he could help me for all that I could not understand.
Life slipped in and out of focus, to many year’s hells possession.
Therapy, the only way I had to help my self esteem.

At times there seemed no hope at all, and down the spiral I fell.
Nothing left for me for my poor little inner child.
I damned them all, how could they just leave me in this muddy well?
Why must I come back prisoner to Satan’s bloody hell?
They would probe my brain to no avail, unable to figure out why I had lived at all.
A mystery undefined by me.

Pronouncing their help for me, only to turn me out again.
Was there not to be an answer, was this my own true fate?
Then I heard a whisper from my dearly departed friends.
When it came to me in my lowest, it had said, "There is still hope".
"You could ask for help". They said, "from others in pain too".

"Lift the phone, ask one of them, just what you should do."
I can’t do that, I moaned in pain, I’d be a laughing disgrace.
All the answers were right there, my distorted pride on my face.
"Come on now, you are strong, you know that deep inside."

Talking about painful atrocities, I was sitting in a room.
Everything in my life, confirmed my deepest truths.
At last I had a name for the feelings that came to me in gloom.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, now I had to choose.
In time I could recover, with a difficult road ahead.
If I tried and fought my way out of hell my life could be revived.

Yesterday’s my history I shall always own and tomorrow may not come.
Every loving day for me is surely to help some!
Don’t let yourself get angry, when all looks lost and bad.
Do something positive for others, make a difference in you life, you can!

Today I start my life anew.
I carefully attack my demons, but as I send them away from my life,
I continue to grow and love every moment.
In hearing this you may fear, I have become a saint;
No wings have yet been offered me, nor any fame been given,
I just may have a chance - for a happy life as a recovering Catholic.

I’d always felt alone inside, especially as my dearly departed and abandonment overcome.
Now I realize it’s inside of me, all their love I own.
My soul is rejoicing, having all them home.
I have faced my fear and come back with courage.
I wake up each day and say, "I’ll try with all my strength".
You must fight and fight to make this happen, endless it may seem.
But you will be rewarded in ways, and get big wings one day.

-God Bless

next: The First Time by Amy Miles