"It's time to get better." That's what they're all telling me. As if I can retract into my dark thoughts and flip a switch for a rainbow to prevail. I've laid stacks of filters on the outside of my eyes, some make the image brighter, some delete things unneeded. And, each time I want to escape, I add another layer of black. Losing control calls for a tsunami of twisted memories, haunting flashbacks, and a never ending voice warning you of your own demise. My will to get "better" is no longer about me but instead for the satisfactionof others. Does that bring me up or push me down? I'm not sure if I want to taste a new life at all, my mind loves to hold me back. A system of progressive muscle relaxation has always soothed the right nerves to allow my squeezed eyes to take a break. My vacation is portrayed as being a mixed drink of waves, sand, UV rays called relaxation on ice. What they forgot to tell me is that this drink comes with a side of wasabi sauce; the flashbacks. And I'm figuring out how, every time I take a sweet sip, the burn doesn't take long to follow. The first drink took me by surprise, a happy memory became tainted. The stranger that I'm supposed to call "Dad" was still my father during the moment in my mind. Innocence still clung to my breath, my dad chased me around the beach; a mere joke. But, not a minute later, the sand became grass and a different night emerged from its hiding. It became the night that marked the end of the exchange of children on weekends. A man that I no longer knew chased me through the yard. I was refusing to grant his wishes; I wouldn't leave the house. I knew, that day, that he would never catch me and I knew that I wasn't actually there in the present moment, but that didn't stop the sheer terror from taking its place once again.