Back in the well

 How many times will I find myself in this well? I have to wonder.  Knowing its a chemical imbalance doesn't make it easier, when all I can think about is how much easier it would be to just not be here, in this place.  It hurts so much at the moment, this life.  And its such an easy life, in so many ways. 

I suppose a significant part of the problem is that its old wounds being reopened and so I am turning to old habits to dull instead of excise what ever emotional shrapnel is hanging around. I'm not giving my self the grace we go on about, I'm trying to be gentle but I am impatient and bratty. I can hear the whine in my voice 'I don't want to! You do it for me! This hurts! I want my mommy!' And I'll wrap my arms around myself, rub my own hair, sway my own hips as though I were soothing a baby and I guess that's what I am doing, soothing my own inner infant. 

But I reach out to friends and I make no sense. I hear myself babbling incoherently and I can't stop it. I sound childish and irritating to myself. So needy. Why am I so goddamn needy?! Arrgh! 

And I wish it were a one off, but it isn't. You know why? Because I've got the' teen journals, the scribbled angst as proof.  

What does it even mean, for instance this poem? Can you feel that I've ever matured? 

Acceptance without knowledge

but could there be something more 

besides you choosing me?

 

I'm afraid to ask, afraid to be denied. 

That face, I already expect you 

to flinch away.

 

Hours passed. We sat side by side and 

I fumbled for words.

 

I'm not sure that this is a bridge I can construct. 

 

My crusader. Sometimes I think I miss that about you most

Lines were drawn in the sand and you chose me

but the lines now are made of clay and these choices? 
These are permanent.

 I can’t undo you once you’re ash.

 

Chilling, I see now what I witheld was too much

that I was waiting too long to ask for help. But when I haven't 

I stood alone?