OCD, Anxiety, Depression, and other reasons I am not an Astronaut: Part 5

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I feel compelled to write a post focusing around the title of this post and similar posts before.

Firstly, the title itself is an attempt at irony and or humour. I am not a believer that a person should limit themselves to anything or blame their mental health problems on their place in the world. However, it can contribute to some deciding factors in a person’s life. For example, all I wanted to do from being a small lad all the way up to being a big lad, was be in the army, parachute regiment specifically, infantry. That was it for me, the start and the end game, “be the best” as they say. However, despite my high fitness levels and determination I failed the medical, why? because my medical records were reviewed and my various issues both historically and at the present time, were flagged. So, I was rejected. That just is what it is, fact. My mental health problems stopped me from doing what I wanted to do. I was fairly down about it afterwards, but now not so much, things happen for a reason, or they just happen. So hence the title, with my mental health problems if I said “I want to be Astronaut” would I really ever become one, no, of course not. I am fine with that, we all have our limits.

Society makes people believe on one hand we can be anything but on the other hand dishes out the reality with a slap of disappointment.

I am not bitter about not being able to pursue a military career because I tried my best, that is, I believe, the correct message to send out to the world, leave nothing in the tank (no pun intended) and give it your all.

At the end of the day you may not walk on the moon, but if you left it all on the track trying, then you achieved something by having the courage to try in the first place.

Thanks for reading.

 

I Rise

Back to the crushing black deep,

Curtain shadow and starless black

Oil well swelled swirling black

Frost bitten dead toe black, cruelest of cruel cursing soul black

Crushing bastard black, rage thrashing sea.

 

Pass me the blade I will end this quick,

No more sinking from this sinking ship,

Leave the noose; pay the hangman’s tip,

Tie the boulders to this lead brick,

I am jumping from this revolving ship,

Throw me no more lines.

 

Further into deaths cloak black I sink,

Further deep into the dead man’s drink,

Passed the unforgiving Jack Frost brink,

Heavy iron binds the chains that link,

That pulls me to floor.

 

Let my lungs fill and sleep my mind away,

Away from quotes and all there meaningless bile,

Come into my mind for a day, then quote me a smile.

You keep scratching your hollow scrawl,

And I will remain dead eared upon the floor.

 

Pass me your hand; I will put it under the kettle,

Let’s test your resolve your inner metal,

And see if you can carry on,

Too much too soon?

Here is a broom, to sweep up your meaningless words.

 

Let me sink down further still,

To the black sacked cat sleeping drown

Seashell sounding whooshing drown

Dead patch eyed sipping sailor drown,

And on milky-way grains leave me to lie.

 

Where were you all years ago?

Before the acceptance, the circus show.

You have found your voice, along with your spine,

Well done for joining in at the correct and proper time,

And speaking from such a caring heart.

 

As I lay I look up through the black,

Tar beach sludge black

Oil glued winged bird black

Cancer lung black

Smoker’s death black, smoking black sea.

 

And in the dark of my pitiful demise,

I look to the heavens at broken skies,

I see a pair of marble pendulums looking down at me.

Golden rich deep brown eyes

Stab my heart with a lightning bolt jolt.

 

Eyes that hold with cobra stare,

Break down the dark, supply the air,

And lift my heart from its coal-black pit,

Gives me the strength, supplies my grit,

And from the grain I rise.

 

Her hair of raging black flames,

Wild burning bright illuminates blackest night,

All hell takes flight, vineyard soil of blackest sight,

Blackest, black hair.

I rise further still.

 

A smile that would make the ungodly pray,

Singing hallelujah, armies of trumpets play,

Pearl gates open to welcome coming day,

I want to reclaim my soul I say,

And so furthermore, I rise.

 

Passed the patch eyed sipping sailor,

Passed all the wing glued birds,

Passed Jack and his frosty brink,

Passed the ships of past times sink,

And all the forgotten souls. I rise.

 

And back to her arms I will always return

Back to her embrace, her heavenly burn,

I will always find the strength through my sinking demise,

To swim up towards broken bluer skies and meet her loving arms,

And so always, I shall rise.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Coming Morn

Upon the ink my needle is spun, upon a white virgin crest,
Spun from heart and tattered cuff,
And cast from naked chest.

 

From the rubble, the hellish struggle, I feel a turning tide,
All the while, comforts the smile,
My burning ember bride.

 

The tunnel is long and you would pot holes to stray,
And though the light be as needle prick,
It only seems so far away.

 

Use your meditation, by take of whatever form,
Use it to stand-fast,
Hold strong against the storm.

 

So with pen and page, and sight no longer forlorn,
I say goodnight to the dark,
Hello the coming morn.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Burn On My Friend, Burn On!

Burn your internal light,

Use its warmth, its guiding light

 

Burn that flame, flaming bright,

Burn worries soul, her lingering plight

 

Burn the flame in you whole,

Burn into your unconquerable soul

 

Burn the moon and the stars,

Burn your worries, your memories scars

 

Burn the pain and the plight,

Keep that match burning bright

 

And in the dark of coldest night

Watch your demons cower and flight,

For you have fire in your eyes

Watch your fire burn and rise.

 

Burn on my friend, burn on.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.