I recall our first sibling school picture,

me all curly haired,

 smoothed skinned boy,

immaculate in uniform.

 

Later changing school,

being in the new house, 'our house' ,

with its windin stairs and woods for back garden,

nature for our neighbours - joyful times. 

 

Later I saw you comatosed in hospital,

then preying fantacially in the door way. 

Other times screaming to a god that didn't seem to listen,

hospital again.

 

Slowly your loving character

sliding into the abyss.

Towards the end we never knew you, 

you never knew you exist.

 

This is probably why

 you mistakenly

stepped out in front of an

oncoming high speed train. 

 

Who's this person who calls himself my father? 

Petty crime, fiddling the government,

ripping people off 

the norm for this man.

 

Forced into adulthood

at an early age,

work became normal,

emotions became a distant second.

 

Soon part of me slipped away to places

I knever knew existed,

dark places, low places,

barren places.

 

Slowly, oh so slowly,

my rebellious charcter

emerged. Boxing became my

sanctuary.

 

My escape from my abject father and long forgotten mother,

too painful to face just the now.

Aggrression and violence

were the norms of the day.

 

Turning a boy into a man

over night.

Jack the lad

around town.

 

Only until the past

caught up

with the all or nothing

mindset.

 

Was the spell in the forces the cause of the PTSD

or something deeper

underneath.

A long bout of CBT followed, helping to release the entrenched grief, 

 

Allowing

life 'liveable' once more.

Yet the tiredness remained,

a sure sign something much deeper was lurking underneath.

 

Not ready to face this pain again.

Crime came calling of the day, week by week,

month by month, year by year.

This was the definition of who I was, as uncomfortable to me as it felt.

 

Later much later,

after much money was spent,

many travels to countries afar, and

property invested the calling of the day was to the great capital that is London.

 

An attempt to esccape

the previous broken relationships, and 

a real struggle to stay on the

straight and narrow.

 

Alas, the person I was running away from came with me.

Soon the depressive episodes happened once more,

albeit in new splendid surroundings.

It was only until another relationship that it became my downfall.

 

And sliding down I went to that dark place

face yet more tragedy from the past.

This time the symbolism of what it meant to be let down by both parents

came to the forefront of my mind. 

 

On my knees once more,

dragging myself along the cess pitt of my resolve.

Many times it nearly broke me,

I just had to find a way out of this deep hole.

 

Who was I out of all of this mess;

a depressive,

a violent criminal, 

neither sat well with me. 

 

I had to find a solution, physical training no longer gave me 

the freedom, only adding to the stress. It was only until I faced my demons, 

dug deep inside of myself

that I was able to touch who I really was:

 

Lively, enthusiastic, and creating something from nothing,

were the traits that I was most attracted too.

Why did these feelings 

evade me for an age?

 

Finally I found my saviours;

hypnotherapy, and reciting poetry,

pulled me out of my life long relationship

to melancholy.

 

To become who I am meant to be. 

At middle-aged, and truly on my path for the first time ever,

the future is bright, looking ahead feels good, finally I know I am 

going to make it.