A kaleidoscope of darkness
When reality is too painful.....
Out of all the Greek islands, I am back here, at the honeymoon spot. What was I thinking, self punishment or a dark kind of reminiscence? Either way, years have passed, a bit more than twenty to be precise and yet there is still that strange quality I possess, taking the positive out of a kaleidoscope of darkness and from negative whispers in the night.
Isn't it funny? Wasn’t it clever the way we were, posed, contained and laughing at the simplicity of life - we felt so separate and distanced from it all but we had it coming though, eventually.
The shudders provoked by it all, the new language and the wondering about everything…the series of good fortune that had headed our way and then we could no longer make it happen, because we did make it happen didn’t we?
The cocoon we made for ourselves, it was settling, it was familiar and perhaps even brave. But times change, people change and even us along with it. I recall your poems in the early days, the connections of the Nordic gods and romance which I had relished and held close as a symbol of love and truth.
The togetherness, the awe and not judging the other was all part of the relationship we formed, the ugliness was yet to follow. Falling apart is terrible but after knowing, actually knowing awe and a version of happiness, it is a tragic hellish reality from which escape is not an option.
It was a bit like falling into a deep pit of exhaustion and slowly fading to nothing without a single person offering a rope to climb, or showing a concerned face. Suddenly without a strength of character or a sense of being grounded the interest disappears and is brutally replaced by anger, impatience and distance. As for the ugliness - that would be me.
Illness is all and well when we can spot it, confirm it and heal it. But what of the mind, soul and psyche. Neglected, even by you. But then predictability, even if boring, can hold together the most confusing of situations. Predictability is a daily rhythm, to which we can sing along the familiar words of, but being bored to me now, is a luxury.
Trying not to recall the hospital stays is hard work, but in my mind I’m still sitting there, coloured pencil in hand, looking at the colouring pad, wondering why this is an encouraged activity. But it is mindful colouring though, it can be grounding and relaxing, they say.
Slowly, slowly slipping away into another version of reality - that of a struggling mind, a mind which is lost to trauma, presumably, a mind which drastically needs a remedy, be it a magic potion, hell, whatever you have.
What they have is medicine, therapy and a diagnosis of sorts. Indeed I have lost touch with reality but she explains it to me. The therapist. It’s called a psychotic break and can be the result of finding reality too painful therefore inventing a new one. But I had ‘us’ , we were a family unit, why would escapism be appealing?
Letting go is the hardest. Not only us, but the past in general because that version of me is gone forever and what's more is that I miss it. The conversations, the travel, the excitement of the unknown.
So twenty years and a bit later, I am reminded of the couple we were, how we had thrived at times and then hit a wall, a hard unresponsive wall of fate perhaps. But I never believed in fate, I believed in change and development and so here I am. What a beautiful island, the sun beating on my freckled face, like traces of the past.
Images of us dance before me. Not picture perfect but real. Inhaling the scent of sun cream and alcohol I allow the charm of this place to wrap itself around my soul which is crying within.
About the Creator
Paula Smith
As a student in creative writing, with an interest in psychology and the human condition my writing tends to veer towards relationships, societal norms and challenges and Scottish background. I love writing fiction and non-fiction.
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Comments (1)
Nice moment