The Role of Dark Emotions

It didn’t feel good then. But as I began to write, there’s been an unravelling of me. My story came out haltingly. To my surprise, I had to prise it from my memory. Once again, I touched the darkness within.

and I went to write

dark emotions threatened the page

so virginal and pure

empty space stared back at me

dare I disclose my struggle?


On the street a young girl played. Her knees caught my attention, too large for the rest of her. She had the anorexic look, I knew it well but she was so young. What was she 11, maybe?

my words entered the unknown

the dark side

emotions felt yet unexpressed

buried inside me

swirling and misunderstood

until I feared them as much as I feared myself

I think back to my mother and how much I loved her. I see young girls at the pint of separation. They hold their mother’s hands frowning, pushing and pulling. Love struggles with the quest for freedom.

mama cried when I disagreed

she wanted the perfect good girl

not the tomboy who climbed trees, fought on the street

and rode a bike

mama loved me

more so in a pink dress playing hospital with my dolls

I made choices which lead me down a destructive path. At 12 or 13, I couldn’t understand its extent. The initial success paled under a barrage of ‘not enough.’ I’d committed and didn’t know that I could opt out.

I suppressed conflict becoming increasingly distanced from myself

life, a bounty of the beautiful

slid its filter over my perceptions

stress hormones skewed my biochemistry

rewiring my brain

Something had gone wrong. Vague discontent with my situationhad me working insanely hard to fix everything. I struggled to keep up but struggled more to let it go. The unknown so large and black loomed larger than, the known internal pain of self-loathing.

vaguely out of kilter

and more and more and more

irritability lies just below the skin

anger primed, ready to respond to the slightest scratch

released, the that torrent spews forth

doesn’t make sense

I sit here with my self-imposed challenge of taking my readers with me on the descent, the hiatus and the recovery. Exploring adolescent me through adult eyes, I’ve learned how deep and damaging the, ‘I am not enough basket,’ can be. Words still struggle to be written but now at the hiatus, I feel I have a lot to offer. I’ve lived remorse, guilt and shame. I’ve experienced patronising acceptance, ‘But you are a good person really.’

why are you there?

discomfort why did you make my life increasingly unbearable?

what is the cause of this cataclysmic cycle?

I’m squeezed tighter than I’d ever thought possible

the hiatus

to emerge integrated

accepting myself

finding the peace and love inside me

Writing, rewriting, thinking, walking, insomnia, planning, thinking I’m clear then unable to write a drop … I know that I’ve been lucky to live this life of extremes. For now, I continue to explore the insights the dark emotions have given me. Onward …

Kindly leave a comment or share your experience. I’d love to know I’m not alone here tapping out words into the ether.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s