Echoing Footsteps

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Echoing Footsteps
… Echoing Footsteps
…… Echoing Footsteps

Recently, have l found myself,
Sitting in darkened echoes,
Of distant shores of my minds’ shelf,
Looking back, reflectively mellow,
Upon life’s’ footsteps,
Like sands caught in a shoe,
Traces of time’s receding ebbs,
Lost in thought true

Walked have l the path,
Of chosen destiny as foretold,
By birth rights within faith,
And has my fate become unfold,
Is my soul now caught in time,
As l drift into subconscious journeys,
Through intricacies of this mind,
Created emotionally …

By following steps of before,
Walked by those who were me,
Yet not, but were inner core,
Of who l have now come to be,
Can l say hand on my beating heart,
That l have done my best,
Lived my life as was intended …

… from the start,
From my dawn of blest?
And what have l done,
That l am to be so very proud,
Of …

That makes me stand tall in my mind,
With learned knowledge of my short time?

Am not saddened by it all,
Relieved to have been the man ,
That l am …
… and not the one before me,
To have walked in my own time of now,
And not in the footsteps of echo,

Is this not what we can but hope for?
To have lived our lives the way we choose,
And not mimic those from afore our time,
Making mistakes similar to paths of yesterday,

Walked have l on my own two feet,
And not in echoing footsteps,
Tomorrow is mine …
… whilst yesterday was yours.

Echoing Footsteps

It’s been a strange emotionally charged week, if l am honest. I have tried to keep myself as balanced as l can, and take the time to reflect upon moments leading to where l sit this sunny afternoon and pen my thoughts to this blog. I was lucky to not have to wait too long for the therapy to come around, however as l was instructed because of my “deeply depressed state” and my longing to speak to Death perhaps a bit more personally, this has both encouraged and motivated my appointment to be sooner.  Sadly l know all too well some of the waiting times in Kent alone for those desiring to speak to another about the whirring’s of their thinking.

I have not allowed my mind to stray to the darkened corners of my brain and unlock the secrets that dwell there, residing easily with haunting ghosts and dank demons, and tried as hard as l can to stay focused upon my writing. Thankfully l have other blogs and journals where l can write in a style that doesn’t betray my inner thoughts. We can all runaway and ostracise our darkest times like an ostrich turning her eggs beneath the soils, because that is easy, and l am no different. I have no wish to linger for too long in the depression.

So my first appointment is next Monday and who knows where he will wish to start. From experience and the 90/10% ratio he will encourage me to simply address where l think the problems are, where IT started this time around. But there is so much to IT this time around and l feel it will be a slower journey to recover the fragments.

I smoked one hundred cigarettes in two weeks, and today l have stopped. I still have a hankering for the nicotine kick, however my lungs have caught up with my sins, and l find that in addition to the anxiety attacks my breathing has become laboured again. I had to give up the habit, it was killing me, literally, according to my Doctor in 2014.

“Your lungs are packing up on you, and if you continue to smoke you will die!”

It was a bit of a no brainer really, but despite that medical warning, it did take me a couple of years to actually cease. So to take up the behaviour again was quite stupid, and so today l stopped, one hundred cigarettes later! Did l feel better for the excursion back into the nicotine valley? No, not at all, it was an easy crutch to grab, and so l scrambled to take hold again of the familiarity, to have something that l could see that was black and white, a reality check on my sanity. But it wasn’t really missed, it was just a moment of weakness.

The tablets are starting to work l think, but not very well, the smaller one awards me a horrible dryness of my mouth, feelings of nausea and l perspire a lot, which can be uncomfortable. But at least my stomach hasn’t betrayed me and turned against me, so as they say small blessings. I see my own doctor next week, so can raise these concerns with him, however, they have succeeded in allowing my brain to descramble and become less addled, so l am thankful!

it’s very hard to write about your problems when you are deep inside the eye of the storm itself, when you are taking one step at a time, one foot in front of the other … but progress is progress.

Until l write again, keep well, keep your mind safe!

I hope you enjoy the poem.

Guy … or … Bloke, it’s your choice.

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Author: aguycalledbloke

Just another guy, another bloke muddling his way through life.

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