Missing

 I feel I was just fine in the life I was living. I was familiar with my despair, taking comfort in the deep drops as I could express the pain I felt creatively and in solitude. The comfort from the concrete walls, the blank windows and locked doors. After everything I was all but residing myself to celibacy and complete withdrawal.  

But now something has been opened; a lock clicked but the key not quite turned, a thought, a toe out of line and a desire for something new and unfamiliar. It has cracked me open. A small line at first but it's starting to spread, and I resist and desperately patch up the damage instead. Now it's realisation has dawned reminding me what I have been lacking over the years, what I have been denied  - by myself as well as others. And the reality is crushing. It bruises and pulls out things I was never ready to reveal. It's all too fast, a roller coaster I can't get off. And I can't seem to stop, craving the push and pull of my own resistance just like the chaotic highs and lows. Now more extreme than they have been in a long time. Maybe inlove with the adrenaline, the dopamine hit, the sexual anticipation, the dangerous balance between obtaining a craving and crashing from the drop. The selfish option. The one I pursue but also refuse. It's chase so exhausting. But now trapped within. Waiting for it to all go wrong so I can perform the well practiced art of picking myself back up and sealing myself in again. The thrill and then hiding away from the perceived intensity. Waiting to be shown I was right all alone, and that they didn't need to settle for me. All because it was brought to my attention that something was lacking. Something I have yet been able to formulate on my own. And I was doing so well...but was I really? I don't think I was lonely but patterns of behaviour may suggest otherwise. Something is just missing.