An important question to ask ourselves

Who Am I?

 

It’s a disease

It’s destroying me from the inside out

I know there’s help out there for me

Why can’t I bring myself to ask?

My whole body is crying out for release

From the pain and torture I inflict upon myself

I know what is right

I know what is wrong

So why do I always make the wrong decision?

It’s a deep pit, with steep sides

That has to be it!

Why else would I slide back down

Every time I almost escape?

It’s not fair!

But then again—

Who ever said it was?

It’s so dark in here,

Not even one light—

It terrifies me

But what really scares me

Is that I like it that way

I’m a freak

That has to be it

It’s the only explanation

Why else would I be like this?

What is “this” anyway?

I’ve never quite figured it out

I know it’s not me

Though I’m really not too sure

What I am to begin with

It has to be the contrived me

The me that I’m really not

The me that I’ve created

To show everyone else

So they can’t really see me

But rather what I want them to see

Is that so wrong?

I’m not really sure

But I think it is

One time I tried to really be me

Only it didn’t work

Because I’d forgotten who I really was

Isn’t that sad?

It’s really kind of pathetic

I can remember so many things

All of the trivial facts that don’t count

But I can’t remember the simplest thing of all

That scares me too

Maybe that’s my problem

If I like being scared

And not knowing scares me

That would be a good reason to forget

I should be thinking happy thoughts

Dreaming happy dreams

Instead I’m happy being scared

Having nightmares about things I’ve forgotten

I wish the past was gone

As in not having happened

Instead of having already been present

Too many things I’d like to forget

It wouldn’t scare me if I couldn’t remember them

It’d make me feel better to know that I’d forgotten

But if I knew that

I wouldn’t really have forgotten!

It’s not that all memories are bad

They’re really not

Some of them are really good

It’s just that there aren’t as many of them

The bad memories are like the ice cubes

That float in the glasses I used to drink from

They always seem to get in your way

And keep you from what you really want

Sometimes when I think about my bad memories

I wish I was there again

I had so much fun

Though I know what I did was wrong

I let them influence me too much

I did what they wanted me to do

And even though I enjoyed it

I regretted it when all was said and done

We stayed together for companionship

Because they said drinking alone was bad

I don’t understand why I listened to them then

I did everything else they said was bad

It would have been better if I’d been by myself

Having a partner just made it worse

When I was trying to do better

He was trying to be worse

Was it really him that did it, though?

Or the little voice inside my head?

There are a lot of voiced in my mind

One for each personality I have

Crazy and Sane,

Logical and Emotional,

Happy and Sad,

Hyper and Calm

Are they really all me

Or am I merely a compilation?

A lot of different people that pretend to be the same one

No wonder I don’t know who I really am

There are too many me’s to know

They all have something in common, though

There’s something missing in all of them

It’s love

I love God

I love my family

I love my friends

But how can I love myself

When I don’t know who that is?

 

 

 

9-15-95 hjw