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Recovery Written by Arian Mabe / Amethyst Mare

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You make me angry.

Not just tail swishing angry. This is raw, screaming, fists pounding against the wall angry. Have you ever screamed so long and so loud that your throat turned scratchy? I have. What is it about you that raises this side that is going off the wall, twisting and writhing in bondage much loathed? You are my past and yet I crave to flee, terrified of what you triggered in me, fearing a return to my old ways. My living room is too small, too cramped. I could run so many miles and still you would be out there, breathing, living, claiming. I am no god or deity able to sway the balance of life and death, though I do not doubt for an instant what I would decree if I was so empowered.

I pace the room - one, two, three, four - and back again. Repeat. And repeat. There must be space someone, space to roam and just think in the quiet of my mind. I miss horse riding dearly. Was it you who made me stop? Once, once you certainly did. Why did you take that from me? There is no greater joy than galloping bareback, sheer recklessness in its most unadulterated form and borrowing an iota of freedom for those minutes of wind whipping by. And you took it away.

Let me go! I have fought and talked, shrieked and laughed until there is no breath left in my lungs and still you cling on. How long must I place one hoof in front of the other until I have truly left you behind? I slam the floor length curtains - such a pain - closed over the window with such force that the frame rattles. Wouldn't it be a laugh to have the whole thing crashing down? I am sure you would have thought it stupid. It makes me laugh. It's been a long time since I laughed. My smile was strained, my eyes dead. I was afraid to look in the mirror, hanging my head so that my forelock covered my eyes. It would have been ridiculous if anyone had seen. I still don't really like mirrors. I'm afraid of what I will see. Myself? Or your construction?

I can't think like that. Taking a route down the hall, I return to my bedroom, a scant few steps in this little bungalow. Back and forth, back and forth. If I stop, I'll think too much. My mind is too noisy. I know I am free and I know I am okay, but how do I know that I won't go back? It makes me shiver, cold fingers sliding down my spine. They say it takes a long while to recover. I don't_want_ it to take a long while. I want to be better. 'Better than I was' is barely consolation when anger rears its ugly head. I drive my fist into the pillows, once, twice, a third time. The pillows never did anything to me. But it's better than doing something to me.

Don't make me go there.

And still the thoughts come. It's not even myself I'm worried about anymore! It's the whole searing unjustness of everything you do. I wonder of the others flitting in and out of your life, your vision, as you gain and lose interest, toying and tugging strings, you broken puppeteer. Would that I could slice through every single one of those strings and leave you with no one, not a soul remaining to play with. Who are you hurting now? Could I have helped them? Could I still help them? The age old question.

No. I turn away from the window, ears pinned flat. I'm too easy to read. And I know I cannot help anyone that you have your claws into. What would I be, to say it aloud? A narcissist of the cruellest calibre has their allies already. What of me? I have my allies and, more importantly, I have my friends. For those repeating my old cycle, I am sorry. Truly. I hope you can escape and heal as I did - as I am still doing.

Funny how it only takes a message or two to bring everything back. I want to help you, I swear. This one meant no harm, I understand. They had solely experienced the same as me, in part. Emotion wells up, uncontrollable, and I spin on my heel, swinging around the same four walls again and again. Fuck you, I've had enough of this. I've had enough of you and your influence. And, no, I'm not crying, no longer at least. Thank god - I do not cry as much anymore, though this bedroom has seen too many tears, too much blood, too many sleepless nights. All because of you.

I should not blame another but how can I not when cause and effect is so intrinsically linked? It is as simple as following step one and two, yet choosing to miss three. I missed three and now I am alone. And happy. So, this is what it is to breathe without restriction, to feel like every breath comes a little more easily. The sun feels a little bit warmer and the stars seem brighter when I walk at night for the right reasons. High summer and I bask in the heat, triumphant in escape, for that is surely what it was. My friends I hold close: you pulled me through. No more fearing the next message. No more wondering what your mood will be like today. No more blackmail. No more of that which I had become.

And now that this is done...what of me? Without your edits, deletions and added information, what does that leave me with? Far more than what I had with you, I shall duly confirm. Leaning out the window, a smile plays on my lips and the sheep baa in the field behind, always my little comfort. If you're listening or if you're not, I'll tell you what I am:

Free of you, forever and always