How am I ever supposed to take flight, when all my head tells me to do is fight?
To have yourself broken down and re moulded into that of a fighter is a dangerous prospect, especially if something happens that makes the fight instinct stick.
Your mental gearbox stuck in that one mode, pushing for danger and anger, blinding yourself in rage unable to see past the red wall you’ve built, no I’m not talking about President Trump when it comes to wall building, just the fact that I myself and I’m pretty sure many others, have in fact built walls (or tried to build walls) to keep others out.
Now these others, may be friends, families or work colleagues, however sometimes you just want to be sat in your own little box, the little place you can get away from it all.
Call it flight mode, get yourself out get away from it and try to calm yourself.
However, every time I try to build my wall, the big green monster comes smashing it down and that rage comes back, the pump of adrenaline, that feeling as it’s coursing through every blood vessel in your body, egging you on all of a sudden you’ve got a demon on each shoulder and the angel is nowhere to be seen.
Pretty dangerous prospect right?
To have all this going on and essentially and unwillingly be but in a position where you may need to play God.
Decide on who’s going first: you or them, kill or be killed.
Scary idea indeed, which I guess is why they’re sending me on my way, due to my “issues” that they have now accepted liability for.
But hey.. Who gives a fuck?
Not them obviously because to them I’m just a number, a number soon to be erased from the books, in approximately a few months I’ll be a “free man” again, able to make my own decisions, or so you’d think.
Let me tell you about a little place called sCUNThorpe, shithole if I’m honest, never liked the place, probably never will.
A breeding ground for Jeremy Kyle projects and petty crime.
However it’s not just petty crime anymore, it’s a beast that’s growing every day, every day you hear of a burglary or there’s some idiot on the loose with a knife, there’s no nice stories coming out of there. I left it for a reason.
Now it’s like I’m being forced to go back.
It’s my wife’s hometown, not mine in front of the slightly less scummy Doncaster down the road, but she wants to move back there, fuck knows why.
But it’s sending the green monster in my head on a war path. Literally our conversations every day are:
Me: Get fucked I’m not going back there.
Her: that’s where I want to settle you’re a joke.
To add to my everlasting list of issues I can’t be arsed with a divorce on my plate. But I think that’s what it’s coming to. Do I do it?
Leave to save my sanity, or constantly be pressured into stuff I don’t want to do in places I hate?