Tag: emotional

Stressed is desserts spelt backwards,
I don’t find it sweet, I feel:
Pushed,
Restless,
Sleepless,
Sick,
Rushed,
Anxious,
Angry,
Tired,
Over emotional,
Pressure makes diamonds,
Not in a workplace, it increases mistakes,
Causes emotional burnout,
Creates a blur where there should be clarity,
Adding pressure makes no sense,
And no, I won’t put a pin in it and circle back.

The authentic me lies hidden,
While the palatable me is on display,
A stand-offish, grumpy, prickly personality,
These are shields, masks, an odd armour of sorts,
It’s all fake, a ruse, a folly designed to trick,
The real me is too fragile, the real me I protect,
With tools of manipulation, I deceive to survive,
Not to survive you, but to survive a day as me,
Just enough so that I can get up again tomorrow,
The ruse has become permanent, now a fused mask,
It conceals the real me from all, lately, even myself,
But it is a mask I must continue to wear,
For I loathed me, long before it became fashionable.

I feel that I am at my furthermost point in life now,
To help you understand, let me paint you a picture,
Close your eyes, visualise a vast solid black square,
A thin fibrous fading white line, lays perfectly straight,
Extending from the very edge of the black expanse,
Terminating at the centre, as a small emitting white dot,
That’s me, this is my current location, my headspace,
Currently unwell, intentionally disconnected, and very tired,
I am people tired, self-control tired, talk tired, and sick of ‘the show’,
Where do I go from the centre of my furthermost point,
I simply do not know.

It’s a just a day like any other for most,
But I feel spent, hollowed out, drained,
Sitting on my couch, the day seems insignificant now,
As Siouxsie sings of Cities in Dust on my turntable,
I notice how a day in the city weighs heavy on me,
The work itself isn’t (always) the problem,
It’s the emotional energy of getting and being there,
It’s taxing, spicy anxiety and doom coping, sap everything,
My brain is constantly in self-defence mode,
By afternoon, when I again breath country air, I’m done,
I trip to and fro across a fine line between tears and sleep,
City and people in large amounts are a big stress that I struggle with,
When did I become this whiny old bitch,
I have good job, and a great team of colleagues,
But I feel eaten up and spat out, and I’m tired of it all,
But there shall be no rest,
Because,
It’s a just a day like any other.

Today I try to seek calm in turbulence,
Find respite during confusion,
Sleep, because the night failed me,
And peace, despite its detractors.