They talk about hell

As if it’s a fictitious place

For me its a frame of mind

When my mind has too much space

Perhaps it is

Just a place in my head

For that I can’t escape

It’s exponential dread

I am the victim and the villain

This is my hell

The back and forth war

I have with myself

It is not a game

In which I can win

You cannot fight your way out

Of a debilitating tailspin

I can come here and visit

Any time that I want

Sometimes the comfort of the familiar

Is all I got

Often, my mind

Forces me to go

But you can't hide from yourself

You can’t put on your own show

I find myself here

And I take a look around

Waiting for the other part of me

To wake up and be found

Mostly I get stuck here

Fully aware

I am fighting with myself

What a glorious pair

Me, Myself and I

Maybe it’s three

The victim and the villain

And the part that’s actually me

Thoughts encircling

Perseverating at best

Negativity worsening

Leaving whatever’s left

Fire and ice

Don’t play with fire

I exhaust myself

Trying to constantly rewire

Hell is not a place for the dead

It is for the living

It's where your spirit dies

It is the ultimate unforgiving

Most paint a picture

So let me paint you mine

The fires burning here

Are the thoughts in my mind

The demons most speak of

The torturers that come

I am that to myself

My inner critic’s voice an all too familiar hum

When you speak of your hell

How often do you go?

Is it a war within you?

Always fighting to run the show?

This is my hell

Because there is no escaping

There is me, and my devil

And she is always waiting

Barefoot in the kitchen

Another day has gone by

We work and we parent

Life’s demand we supply

As I scrub the food

Off and away from this plate

I can’t help but wonder

When was our last date

My mind slips away

Daydreaming at its best

Knowing I picked you right

But still waiting for the rest

Waiting for the romance

Waiting for the desire

Waiting for you to profess

Even a days worth of longing desire

I dream of your attention

Without competing with your phone

I dream of a deep conversation

One that tells me I’m not alone

Weighted down by your list

One thing to the next

I can’t help but dream

Of toping the rest

I dream of spontaneity

Let’s paint this town red

I dream of a night

Where we laugh for hours in bed

I don’t need flowers

There is no need for things

I dream of intimacy

Dammit… let’s stop acting like machines!

Don’t get me wrong

You’re a wonderful man

I guess I’m simply sick

Of scrubbing the same pan

As the night grows longer

And my vision grows obscure

Please remember that with a little work

Showing your love is the cure

Once again, tonight

I will give it my best try

As expected, you’re too tired

My dream of connection on standby

I will stay up late

I will turn out the light

Perhaps in my actual dream

Our souls will then reunite

I know my worth. Yet, she doesn’t seem to have a clue.

I hand over a printed copy of my resume and she skims it over in effort to shape her first question. I can tell she hasn’t read it.

She hasn’t a clue what I have done, where I have come from or who I am. She only pretends to care because that is polite in an interview.

Yet, I know everything about her. I can tell confidence is manufactured purely by her professional accomplishments. I act impressed by these because that is what she needs. I am not an asshole, afterall.

She is not entirely comfortable with herself. Subtle changes in her voice give way to her insecurities. It is all too clear that she defines herself through her job and that, without it, she would not know who she is.

She is actually good at her job. Yet, has lost the passion for it. A remnant of a younger more free version of herself is revealed in her authentic smile. Yet, she suppresses this part of herself too.

She references the first sentence within my resume twice during the 40 minute interview. She cuts me off multiple times, answers a couple texts and attempts to use a bunch of professional jargon to try to through me off my game.

She does this because she thinks she has the power here. A small part of me felt sorry for her that she really has no clue how much she has conformed to the narrow-minded idea that a half-wrinkled suit jacket and mere 3 years of management experience puts her on top of the world.

So I sit patiently. I let her have her moment because I’m not oblivious to the fact that she has something she is trying to prove to herself here. That’s her internal battle today.

Like other bosses I have had in the past, I can tell she is no different. Similar to the others, her interest lies with the fact that I am a young accomplished female that she assumes is too naive to know her own worth. She tests her theory by trying to intimidate me with her words. She waits for the moment where I assume others habitually fall in line and begin accommodating her banter. Her face becomes painted with confusion as I offer no such accommodations.

She mistakes my kindness for a lack of confidence. Most do until they get to know me.

She begins to realize this as the interview endures.

All she sees is a young female she thinks she can bully because that is what the corporate world has taught her is okay. All her actions tell me is that she considers this a win because at least this time she is not the one being supressed, she is the supressor.

It's sad really.

She calls my bluff only to come to the delayed conclusion that I do actually know what I am doing. As a result her interest grows. Yet, to me, she has already lost.

You see, this is how the game goes. They have either shown me that they value me if I fall prey to their manipulation or they value me if I outsmart them within their own game. What they fail to realize is that I don’t play games.

Despite her gut, she tries to play hardball with me once more. She attempts to evidence why her opinion of my monetary worth is objective and accurate. Yet, even in her attempts to defend her offer she can’t help but reveal her own flaws in the language of her own argument.

I use her own data to help her better understand what the numbers mean before I decline the job offer and leave without truly showing her what I actually am worth. All she did was prove to me she doesn’t deserve to know.

I then decided to start my own company.

I allow myself time to first feel for a while. Emotional release. I might cry it out or write it out. Any way to try to make sense with what emotions I am feeling and why they are there.

Then I go back to my list tittled "Things That Make Me Happy."

I review it, maybe make some addendums and pick a few things off of my list to implement within my day. No matter how big or small.

It may be something as simple as going to my favorite coffee shop and ording that expensive latte I like. Reading a good book. Cuddling with my dog. Anything that is on my list that brings me even a small tinge of happiness works wonders.

Lastly, I try to connect with someone that I know is positive and encouraging. This is usually the hardest part to convince myself I need to do but I have never regretted it afterwards. Connection is important because when I am feeling low, I feel alone in that. I think a lot of people do. Sometimes my intention is to laugh and have fun with that person. Sometimes it is like a therapy session where I feel the need to talk things out. Sometimes it is as simple as doing something nice for someone else to see a smile on their face. All of these things bring me joy. I try to pick each person accordingly.

Also, I do like to read self help books and have been trying to enstill some of their teachings and concepts. I have read many but my favorite so far is Addicted to the Monkey Mind by JF Benoist. It's about taking control of your thoughts and no longer letting your inner critique run the show. Might be worth a try. It has helped me tremendously.

My own reflection

Is not one I often observe

I paint on my makeup

My daily preserve

I look with intent

To see imperfections

One by one I cover these

Section by section

The time that it takes

To paint on the color

Has little impact

On the face that’s covered

I spend more time

On my daily appeal

Then that of the expression

My authentic self reveals

I try to avoid

Taking a closer look

It brings me comfort

Focusing on only the cover of my book

Peeling back the layers

Many will soon find

Much depth, woven

Into the pages they bind

The chapters are short,

It’s an easy read

Or at least, at first

It does seem to be

The theme is dark

The plot involves many twists

Events are unpredictible

The characters are mysterious

The main character

She has many dimensions

She works to sculpt her life

Built by genuine intentions

She lives to find purpose

Of life’s design

She fights her inner critique

Defends one word at a time

Yet, she has a darkness

That can be so consuming

So to keep from this place

She keeps on moving

Still running as if to win the race

The lack of energy compels her

To submit... and simply paint my face

She has an old soul for such a young face…At least that’s what they tell her.

She exudes a sense of complexity as if life’s stories are incidentally sown into the layers of the long dark hair that grazes over the middle of her back. The word raw is what comes to mind.

At a first glance she is almost ordinary. Yet, a longer look would reveal much depth beyond those weary deep brown eyes she bears. With a careful turn of the head, her eyes glisten as a few golden flecks meticulously catch the sun. At least that’s what they tell her.

She stands tall with a slender frame bound by the curves she inherited from her mother. The memory of a thinner bonier self reminds her she is thankful for the edges that now outline her girlish figure.

She walks with a confidence that is neither arrogant nor conceded. It’s a sense of acceptance and awareness that seems to linger in the air around her.

Those same deep brown eyes often remain hidden behind the bold square frames that offer her the gift of sight. Still, she prefers to wear contacts as she compares the glass in front of her face to a barrier meant to impede her from interacting with the outer world.

She remains unseen by more than half of the people within a room. Yet, a few are observed to gaze in her direction with a slight glow of curiosity in their eyes. At least that’s what they tell her.

She sits in the smallest corner of the room. As if she is hoping to conceal a part of herself. Yet, her small insecurity seems misplaced as it is evident she feeds off of connection with others.

She speaks her words almost as if they were deliberately plucked off a page of a well written book. She works hard to present her intentions well. Yet, it seems as if it would be difficult to miscalculate such a kind natured heart.

She occasionally abandons this well-spoken persona, altogether, in effort to disburse her energy only when needed. She keeps her listeners engaged as these moments of abandonment offer a true glimpse of the passions that guide her. Her soul as genuine as it is exposed, which becomes obvious to those whom truly listen.

Yet, there is something child-like about her.

Perhaps it is that she is self-conscious about her laugh as if it almost seems to come at a surprise to her how freely it travels from one medium to the next?

Perhaps it is the way that her questions appear to almost erupt from her body in effort to satisfy the urge of her own curiosity?

Perhaps it’s the way she seems to believe in others despite the occasional momentary flicker of past disappointment that paints her face.

Ahhh! I see it now… it’s her love.

It’s almost as if the pores of her skin radiate the very essence of love into the air. Regardless of her attempts to conceal it for the consequence of its vulnerability, she can’t escape its inevitable spell. Some are known to love widely while others are meant to love deeply. Her body submits its defenses to both.

I now understand her depth and her pain in a new light. For love often sets the foundation for one’s greatest sense of joy along with the deepest burn of sorrow. Burning a candle at both ends now has a new meaning.

Similar to a canvas

Full of white space

The artists gives up

Tired of the chase

The inspiration is lacking

The picture lay empty

She reminds herself of what once was

Or what still can be

I wanted to tell you

The depths of my soul

But your reaction

Is something I could not control

So I hid this secret

Waiting for the right time

To tell you that your daughter

Is not actually fine

I was afraid to tell you

For concern of understanding

You see, this darkness within me

Is quite long-standing

It is difficult to explain

The nature of what it is

Yet, harder to describe

Why it even exists

I told you it was numbness

A lack of feeling

Yet, describing it aloud

Felt all too revealing

As I uttered my descriptions

My body reacted

Every word I spoke

Emotions rushed as if intentionally extracted

My inner critic

Cautioning my tale

Every bone in my body

Urging me to bail

A burst of emotion

Outpour into the air

I'm crying in response

To emotions I forgot were there

Uncomfortable and fatigued

But fully consumed

I tried my best

To explain this to you

You asked your questions

You saw the pain revealed

It caused you hurt

And hit me hard without my shield

I don't want to be broken

I can't bare being here

I wanted you to think I'm strong

Your changed perception my ultimate fear

You asked of the depth

All I could muster to say

Is that I have both my good

And my bad days

I'm not suicidal

This offered you some reprieve

Though the thought of hopelessness

Was hard for you to conceive

I told you I was ashamed

And I felt embarrased

To appear so distant to others

To seem so careless

I painted a picture

Of my lowest of lows

The drawn shades

Consumed by the shadows

You sat accross the room

You mostly listened

You allowed me time to explain

My souls fragile condition

I felt better in some ways

In others I did not

For all I could give you

Was a cursory snapshot

I know I owed you more

I feel this to be true

But now you ask me how I'm doing

As if waiting for an eventual breakthough

I am getting better

One step at a time

It is a lot of work

And please know, a slow steady climb

You are not alone.

I hear you.

I sympathize with you as I'm sure you could sympathize with me.

If you are capable of feeling life's lows, then love, you are capable of feeling life's highs.

You have a passionate heart. You always knew this.

Treat it well.

Give it a break. Be easy on that heart of yours! Seriously!

Let yourself feel what it is you haven't been feeling.

Let it out.

It's okay.

Whatever the lesson is that you need to learn here...

Take the time to learn it.

Let it resonante within you so you can reform.

Cry it out.

Start a kickboxing class.

Something healthy but new.

Find this new outlet and channel your energy there.

Give it a place.

Accept that where there is darkness, there will be light.

You already know that...

But believe it my friend!

Just because it feels far away now, doesn't mean you won't find an even happier state of being.

A happier you.

It is and will be possible.

Rebuild. Reform. Renew.

Words are beautiful. Start speaking beautiful words everyday. To yourself and others.

Use language as your guide.

Change your narrative.

You can do this.

The fact that you recognize what you need (whether that means "Pretty Shiny Words" or something else) means you already ARE doing this!

Move forward my friend.

You will one day look back and realize you are exactly where you want to be.

You see the smile I bear across my face

You neglect to see the pain

Because it's hidden

In it's own space

I try to explain

Words simply do not do

I feel ashamed

So I try to pretend for you

You acknowledge my feelings

But do not understand the extent

You expect it to pass

Becoming a historic event

You think it's a phase

One I will simply outgrow

You neglect to see I am broken

So to you, I am putting on a show

You remind me of our blessings

I know these to be true

It saddens me to feel the weight

Of how this also affects you

I am the culprit

This is the greatest of wars

I know I am to blame

For these, the muddiest of shores

I want to find it

The joy I once possessed

Just the energy of the thought, though

Compels me to rest

It is not just a darkness

It is a lack there of

No energy

No hope

And sadly, little room for love

My passions are gone

My personality depleted

My old spirit

Left in its grave, defeated

I want you to understand

But I fear this even more

That sympathizing with me

Will also leave you at the devils door

Instead, I will hide

Under lock and key

I will unlock the door and leave

Only when I know I am ready

For now I will stay

I think I need to feel

Until my strength

Is eventually revealed

This is a lesson

One I wish to not repeat

I must first sit and embrass my depression

Before I can stand on my own two feet