You will have read before that my life had consisted of a period known as The Hellbox Days from 2009 – 2012 where upon, a year after my diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome that l was in a phase where l had to really dig deep into my psyche, my journey of discovery and rediscovery of my identity. This piece was written in September 2009.
Whispering Pools, Clouded Puddles
My home is in a long somewhat ugly metal box,
Daily l work with horses, and live with two dogs,
No point in glamorising the truth at all,
For to even attempt to do so will result in a fall,
Slowly l disappear into obscurity by choice,
Walked away from society, its’ cultures and the vogue voice,
Isolated in both my mind and also location,
Just subjected to my over thinking, a torturous predation!
Laying back on my bed, and looking up at the ceiling,
Noticing the cobwebs, whilst trying to fathom my feelings!
In the background l hear the pulsating rhythm to yet another song,
Playing on the television, its’ application on all night long,
Emotions running deep lodging themselves into my overworking brain
Complicated complexities of today, yesterday or tomorrow, always the same,
Reflections of time afore when maybe it was good,
But yet, unknowing if that itself is truth,
And words and thoughts constantly on the move,
Bouncing around endeavouring to find the groove,
In which they too might find solace,
Yet still l lay here, mentally caught in a grimace!
Asking myself, honestly what is happiness?
Have l finally acquired the truest definition of this?
Or am l too flowing along with the waters of pretence,
Just wishing that all of these thoughts and feelings would make sense,
Trying to live the simplest of philosophies,
And yet this, this is what l am left with?
The longest quests of all have l found myself on all these years,
Pointless perhaps, l have come to believe, recognising fears,
That l am still none the wiser for the answers l seek,
For questions l know not, or even have reached,
Looking back in time, my lifetime, trying to understand,
Many things, but most of all, who l am?
I have neither a wife nor a loving partner, again by choice,
Fall victim not to loneliness, yet still l know no rejoice,
A life that is starting to feel empty and consumed with nothing,
Except working with horses and endless searching,
My mind constantly spinning around in painful circles,
Understanding not whether this empty life is true happiness?
Should l be content that so few people see me this way,
For so few people do l actually see anyway every day,
My mind knows not nor understands how to relax,
But does itself injustice by constantly working on the track,
Of comprehension into my disorder,
Wandering and wondering on how exactly it can alter,
My perception further of reality,
By swallowing me deeper into the complexity,
Of allowing my life to slump into the Aspergic muddles,
And yet why, do l only think of whispering pools and clouded puddles?
© Rory Matier 2009