Walking through the dark corridors of my mind with a candle in my grip,
I can feel my pain engulf me and mind beginning to slip.
So many doors to choose from, but which one do I choose?
If I choose the wrong one, is it game over and do I lose?
One door leads to another and that one leads to two more.
It seems like an endless tunnel and way too much to explore.
Many doors are locked and few are open to me,
could this be my opportunities or my minds game of disability.
It seems my path has been chosen,
for only certain doors unlock,
each one has a price to pay,
I feel I’m being mocked.
I should be safe, this is my mind but its way too dark to see,
this little flame that’s in my hand, has no guarantee.
I see the stages of my life from when I was young to know,
it’s sad to see how much I’ve changed and I wonder why and how.
I see a door that’s left wide open, cautiously I proceed.
The darkness inside engulfs my flame, I’m blind and can not see.
This must be the part of me that is filled with all my pain,
for there is too much to be kept locked behind doors,
too much for this little flame to tame.
I retrace my steps and just walk back, how hard could that be?
I feel the darkness fighting back, scratching and clawing at me.
It has me now and wont let go, it’s teeth have sunken in.
Like a parasite it feeds off me, its smile is a grin.
I can’t see where I’m going, I don’t know where I’m at,
I’ve made my choices and chose my doors, there is no going back.
I’m back to where I started, now carrying my pain unlike before,
walking through the corridors, I’ve chosen the wrong door.
– From The Chronicles of The Insomniac Writer
About the Author:
My name is Brian McGrath and I am a Chronic Pain Warrior. I suffer from chronic pain due to a failed back surgery with instrumentation. Neuropathy, Disc Degenerative Disease, Depression, as well as pain from other surgical procedures that were necessary due to my fall at work. I am currently 45 and disabled, unable to work again from a work related accident that occurred when I was 39. Throughout all of this I feel my daughter has suffered the most. She was only 7 when this happened to me and I was unable to do a lot of the things that a father should do with his child. She and I both missed out on memories to be made due to this.
Doors Poem | Psychological Effect of Chronic Pain