A recurring dream. One of being buried alive. Distress. Anxiety. Sleepless nights. The fear of being back to a place where helplessness was the norm and strength the basic catalyst of average. Exhaustion.
Nervous breakdowns can be difficult. Any breakdown can. One held within, so visceral, however, can take its toll. The toll becomes addictive. Withdrawal symptoms from grief, when happiness is the end.
Smashed in the face by a cricket ball. 22 yards down from a trundler, a thousand miles away from being in the present. Lost in thought, the body pays a price. Fast forward two weeks.
Slight shifts in perception. Helplessness turned on its head is empowerment. The feeling of mattering so little moves to the feeling of being able to do anything you can, without judgment, without consequence. The end becomes the means. Happiness is a state of mind.
Smash it to all parts. A hundred off 50 balls. Never before. Never before had even 10 been crossed with such limited anxiousness.
A recurring vision. One of being free. Devoid of psychological poverty, away from the depravity of self-assessment, rigid and unforgiving.
You’re not confined. Only constrained. The world may not be your oyster. But it is your world.