The year: either 1973 or 1974. The time: between 1.00am/2.00am. The
place: my bed-sit in Rathmines, Dublin. I was sitting on the side of my
bed totally frustrated at not being able to get the words out of my head
onto my notepad (the old journalist style spiral variety!). I wanted
to scream out my fragmented thoughts to anyone who would listen but in
that dark hour which is neither night nor day my anguish would have
fallen upon sleeping ears. So it was I wrote these words:-
Dark Thoughts
Everything seems so strange.
I am trying to write exactly what I feel but seem only able to describe it in my mind.
When I try to write it down it all becomes meaningless.
It's no longer a feeling, just letters forming words in a sentence.
It's like living in a fantasy or dream world,
Everything is just what I want it to be because I make it that way.
I create my thoughts and live them within myself.
This to me IS my real world.
I see things only as they are through the sleeping eyes of fantasy,
Then abruptly the hand of reality shakes me awake.
I'm frightened.
I am forced to emerge screaming from the warm womb-like sanctuary I've created deep within my imagination.
Outside, a violent world is waiting.
© Ann Brien 2011
Above image via: www.ownbeat.co.uk
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