What do you think of yourself? Do you think you are good? Or bad? Or shades of grey?
You think others have subjective opinions about you. Your family loves you, so will dilute your flaws away. Whereas people who dislike you will see only your real mistakes or the presumed ones.
But what about you? What about the bias you see yourself with? Self hatred, lack of self confidence, over confidence… Don’t these tilt your opinions one way or the other?
I’ve been asked to write down my opinion of myself. Good and bad. And get 3 others who I trust to do the same. We shall be working from there in our next session.
So my question is… In this very grey area, how coloured are your opinions about yourself?
My intense therapy starts today. I think I’m finally ready to talk… About the sexual, emotional and physical abuse I went through for the better part of 3 decades.
I’m ready to open up… To myself to begin with.
Wish me luck!
From childhood we are told to fit into boxes
Full of hypocrisy, biases and deadly toxic gases
Contrived replicable templates, with all sides squared
A merged wrapped identity, all of us shared
Cramped in my thoughts, restrained in my jacket
I tried to think outside this flower bracket
One day with my arms out, I stood up and stretched
Went from the Messiah, the angel to the devil, disgusting and wretched.
Names they called me, yet I didn’t let my soul die
But time and again they curbed my attempts to fly
I look to you with a final desperate cry
Set me free and see me soar high
High on adrenaline. High on life
I can’t seem to remember the time I was low.
Buzzing with thoughts. Crazily creative.
Was this the same mind, that was once slow?
Maybe it was a farce.
A ploy. An act for attention.
The pain, the sadness, the depression
Nothing more than an illusion
Buzzing with energy like a queen bee
Am excited, happy and wild.
Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon
From within, cried the depressed little child.
Manic phase, depression, anxiety in my head
‘Why can’t you get over it?’ everybody said
These questions, the stress, on them my demons fed
The madness, the craziness, like a charging bull seeing red.
Broken though my mind is I fought with my full soul
Piece by piece I jigsawed. I made myself whole.
Fighting for a space for myself. Creating my own role.
Climbing my way up, from the bottom of the totem pole!
One stalk two stalk three stalk four
He used to bring her roses to her door
Dandies and lilies and orchids and buds
Meant so much more than random diamond studs
He chose with love, each little flower
A gift straight from his heart, for his lover
As each day she fought to survive
Her pain cut through his heart like a knife
He held her tight as there came a day
When her pain and struggles finally went away
He still chooses with love every rose
And without fail everyday he goes
Only that the bouquet has become a wreath
As his lover lies from the ground six feet beneath!