Muted Verse

Carl Jung once said, "Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you." It was funnier when you sat in a chair across from those who deemed themselves 'crazy' everyday. All the while, there were demons dancing around in the back of your skull, screaming at you, reminding you that you weren't really worthy of telling them how to deal with their problems. Sure, I possessed the means to help them in all the ways science had determined I could, but for the past six months, my past had been trying to catch up with me and all I'd been doing was avoiding it. Emilia Clare and her partners were proof enough that the running route didn't work, yet they themselves were part of my problem.

One persistent bastard might actually have a chance at tearing down my carefully constructed walls, but I didn't want what his life offered, nor did I have any desire to face what lay beyond those walls. My sister and my dads were hovering on the outskirts of my sanity, only driving me closer to the edge. In my profession, there was no shortage of stress and trauma. Those I could handle. It was the problems that were closer to home that were the actual threat, lying dormant for so long, I'd almost forgotten they existed at all. Almost.

You never forgot the things that shaped you. Hurt you. Split you in two. After all, they were called 'formative years' for a reason.