Written For The Stuck Ones

You want to run away, but you can’t. And you can’t because you’re stuck in your own skin. You’re trapped in your own head and no matter which way you turn, no matter where you run, and no matter how you try to get away, you just can’t seem to escape yourself.
 
This is your search for the exit door—
 
When you feel trapped, you look for a source of light in any form possible because when you feel trapped, it’s like being scared of the dark —and even if you knew where the light switch is, it doesn’t matter because you feel too small to reach it.So you reach for whatever seems closest even if it pulls you farther away

 
When you feel stuck—And what I mean is when you find yourself stuck in the crevices of your own crazy concepts, you believe the worst, and you believe the whispers in your mind, which no one else can hear, but of course, to you it seems like everyone can hear this, and when you find yourself stuck in the rut of thought and the emotions as defined by such thought—it’s like being trapped in a small room, or it’s like being in a small cage. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, but worst of all, you can’t even move away because you’re trapped like a child that was bullied into a dark closet—and all you can do is cry out, hopefully loud enough that someone hears you and comes around to unlock the door.
 
But no one ever does (at least, not permanently anyways)
But you have to protect yourself; especially when you live in captivity.
You live at a heightened sense of awareness when you feel stuck like this—and this is not to say that your awareness is accurate; no, this just means you look around you and everyone is suspect because deep down, no matter how strong you are and no matter how you try to hide your sins or secrets, all you can do is pray that no one finds your weaknesses
.
Your peripherals are heightened and so are the eyes behind your head. You feel everything.
You feel raw to the touch.
You’re on guard—you’re always on guard, alert as ever, and you’re always waiting for the next thing to go wrong.
And you’re also tired
You’re because of all things; it would just be nice to rest for a minute. It would be nice to relax and not feel like the walls are closing. It would also be nice to not feel as if everyone around you is noticing the fact that no matter how you try to portray your truths —you just can’t seem to hide what’s up your sleeve and pull off your trick.
 
You keep your back to the wall. You try to keep yourself out of harm’s way, but somehow, the same things keep happening. The same feelings creep in and the same outcomes become status quo.
You find yourself facing the same roadblocks. You find yourself interacting with the same people and reliving the same problems (but hey, this may be uncomfortable to say the least, but at least it’s familiar.)
 
You think about leaving. You try to get away or escape or you contemplate the unthinkable, which of course, has now become the obviously thinkable.
 
You’ve practiced your speech more than a thousand times, but you just can’t bring yourself to make the exit..
And this is what hurts.
This is the pain. It’s the constant go-around
You can’t get away.
Your legs are too weak to outrun yourself.
Your energy is given away—and it’s always given in the same “Wrong way’ direction.
 
You take two steps forward and get knocked 100 steps back (or so it seems.)
 
Even if you clean up so to speak; even if you try to be better, and even if you try to make changes, even when you play the game on the level and you play it square, and the up and up, with nothing up your sleeves; even when you give your all to play it wholesomely and genuinely, to give it a go—it seems like the more you try to improve, the more the tragedies come your way.
 
The more you try, the more you fail, but there you are, standing with your nose in the air, vulnerable, frightened, and exposed—or almost naked in away because the mask you hid behind is now removed and all your plastic shades of importance are gone—vanished, and all you try to do is decipher the indecipherable; all you do is try to come up for air, but you’re drowning man, and you’re drowning in the worst way, down too deep with the surface far too high to catch your breath..
 
So what do we do?
 
How do we get out of this place?
How do we get out of our own mental prison when we are not only the inmate, but we are the guards and wardens as well?
 
Sure, I hear people talk about coping skills. And sure, I’ve heard the words life skills. But I’ve also heard people talk about panic attacks. I’ve heard people talk about how to handle them—and I’m like really?
And then I wonder if the people who say this ever felt so stricken that that literally thought they were going to die; their chest tightens, they can’t move, in fact, they can hardly breath, let alone think a simple thought—and then I think if all the wonderful suggestions that people have to help better the course of wellness and then I wonder if this person was ever unwell themselves.
All we do is talk about the problems.
Even when treating the symptoms, all we do is talk about the tragedies.
 
Sometimes, I swear, it feels like running on a hamster wheel and try as you might, you can’t “Just” stop or get off because if you do, you can be flipped over by the momentum of your fears, then you fall on your head (figuratively speaking of course) and you find yourself with your upside down.
Where’s the navigation of care?
How do we negotiate our way out of this mental cell?
Where’s the answer?
 
And we try to find the answers. We really do. We look for the answers to the unending questions but we seldom have faith in them. And we look to the professionals, we look to our teachers, we look to our doctors, and we look to those with walls filled with diplomas. We try to find ways to get away and be free but still; it’s a hard thing to step away from the cage where we’ve kept us. It’s hard to step away from captivity when you’re afraid to be free—and let me explain—it’s not that we are afraid to feel free, but more so, our fear is not about the freedom at all; it’s about the anticipation of our captor’s return. Understand?
 
There are lessons that no classroom can teach. There are plans that can only be learned by experience. And don’t get me wrong; it’s good there we have professionals out there. It’s good that we have people who study and place their diplomas on the walls of their office. We need them. We need each other too. In fact, we need each other more . . .
 
To encourage us when we fall down
and to cheer for us when we rise up again
 
Trust me.
There is hope.
Aflag
 
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