Out of the Storm

I am so scared.

The list of unknowns accumulates.
Everything is so close though I’m locked in.
Just banging the walls around me I am not upset.
I am happy and fulfilled, so filled.
There is nothing wrong but everything is not right and I don’t know how to fix it.
The person I am falls into place every day I appreciate more but find it so hard
To shake the things that goes on around me, so disordered, and so unclear.
I now have time, too much time, and I try carefree but the careful grabs my wrists and won’t let me out.

The tension and screams just outside, that stem from my source of life- script what could be, my worst nightmare and greatest threat.
This, however, is more of a reassurance then the considerate words of my friends whom I feel nothing but the drive to be an honest, and loyal, friend to. But how could I understand them if I don’t think anyone can understand me. I don’t understand me.

Contrary to popular belief, I DON’T GET IT. I don’t understand my emotions, my mind or the things I’ve done. I am rational, and passionate, and real, yes. I act with conviction but inside I am terrified. I am a precarious mix of impulse and violence, with my capacity to love more than twice that when out of the darkness. All of it leaves me with my worst buried far beneath my best but not yet gone. The toxic facets of my being, the best friends in the world of destruction, aren’t ready to move out of my head. I’m scared to fill their places with new dreams before I deserve to do so.

My obligation to break the mold of my past is at odds with the obsessions and the compulsions that have once taken over.
I’ve starved my body, I’ve starved my mind, and I’ve tried to give it all up only to receive a better chance and I haven’t worked hard enough for it yet.

When will the fears that broke me down resurface? When, so I can be prepared.
It’s not possible to put great effort into being free unless you’re walking on eggshells. Then you are not free.