bruised and battered
by my own hands
I try to make sense of this awakening.
the nightmare is real
and it screams at me.
no longer are there gentle beguiling words,
alluring and tempting,
no, a cacophony of insults
hurled at my flight for freedom,
sabotaging my feeble attempts
to return to myself.

my head spins with the memories
my heart aches with the loss
of all that I once knew myself to be.
I now must add these dark visions
to all that I have tried to understand
about myself.

I sit in my old familiar corner.
the piano behind me,
unplayed.
nothing has changed.
the view from the window,
my garden
and the bush beyond
welcome me home
with a few new leaves
and some fresh undergrowth.

Home.
I cannot believe
my insanity,
but I am
home
thank God