The Hell Butterfly

Archive for June, 2019

In Which I Bare My Soul For Public Viewing

I’m struggling, guys. I’m really, really struggling.

I could think of dozens of metaphors and short poems to describe this “feeling” but none seem to fit the base need I have: the need to confide openly. And, quite frankly, I don’t have the will or motivation to think up poetic comparisons.

The last 12-15 months have been rough, even by my standards. In (almost) brief, I started, and have now left, a job that had potential to be great but caused me tremendous emotional pain, endured a rapid decline of my 3+ year relationship into emotional abuse and manipulation before ending things and suffering the fallout, I made and lost a best friend to betrayal, selfishness, and threats of violence at a time when I really needed someone on my side, and have most recently moved out of my 7 years home of Plymouth, back with my parents, miles away from the few friends I still have (had?) left.

I am so… lonely.

I am so… ashamed.

How did I let myself get here? How did I let my life erode so deeply?

How this, why that… I could ask so many questions and not find any good answers. Why did I stay in a controlling relationship for months and months after my eyes had opened to the raw truth of it? How was I so weak to let my job push me to crumbling… again? How am I supposed to get through this without a solid “support network”?

I suppose, with a more positive outlook, I could rephrase those questions and have the answers: “I did my best”, “it’s okay to step away from something causing me pain”, “I’m not a failure unless I give up”.

“Ay, there’s the rub!”: I feel, a little, like I’ve already given up. I already see myself as a failure. I already let myself be walked on, pushed down, talked over. I already gave all the love I can muster with this soul and where has that gotten me? I don’t want to answer that, you get the picture.

I’m trying, guys. I’m really, really trying. I don’t know, I guess I just need some encouragement, an outlet, and if I can’t get that solace from The Hell Butterfly then what have I spent my time keeping this up for?

I want to be okay. I’m getting so sick of crying. There’s the initial catharsis of the action, then just a deep melancholy, a loneliness, a darkness that just won’t let the cycle end.

I’ll get through it. I always get through it. I just wish I didn’t have to keep “getting through it” time and time again. I need this awful universe to cut me a break. I mean, don’t I deserve it?

– Absence –

It hurts; longing.
Wanting, trying,
without reply.
No dignity in pleading,
in vulnerability,
no, none for me.
This heart of mine
likes violin strings
It screams as it
echoes overlapping
as it dies.
No, no dignity in it,
none for me.
Pain is not a melody,
but absence of it.
How do I go on,
with sorrow,
but no song?