This post was inspired by a post I saw over on Fetlife regards the way we handle trauma/pain.
“Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.”

The fifth door named was death.

The question posed was what are your five doors to escape pain.
These are mine.

Sometimes Sleep beckons me close, and soothes me into slumber with a lullaby so sweet I believe I could remain there indefinitely. I cry to it first as pain makes it’s home within my some time fragile walls, seeking out it’s embrace as a means of escape.
I call to it,
I conjure it,
I beseech it to take me so I may drift away as my mind attempts to heal.
I’m not above courting it, artificially, in the belief that in sleep, my pain will become numbed.
Sometimes Sleep taunts me, staying in spectral form,
making me fear the nightmares which await in the depths.
If sleep finds me then, it’s fitful, drenched in foreboding, driving me to the precipice of despair.

Once driven from the duplicitous cradle of Sleep, I knock on the door of Solitude, and through it I withdraw.  Here, I can call on my monsters, and with them I can play.
They whisper to me as I cock my head, tapping me on the shoulder, bidding me their shadows to chase.
I know their names;
Abject loneliness.
They’re familiar to me, although
I hesitate to call them friends.
Solitude holds some merit as a place to rest and recuperate for a short while.
But once I tire of my monster’s games, I make the last one, Melancholy, my silent companion, and we sit, hand in hand,
comfortable in our misery,
until such a time as the beginnings of equilibrium gently unlock our fingers, and guides me away.

Door three is my albatross, the thing with which I self torture. In desiring to escape pain, I solicit more in order to drown out the harrowing scream. This door is an intrigue, a sick fascination, and I delude myself that through it I’ll find my way.
<rational mind>
This is a door through which I should not travel,
I oft find myself standing outside it, key in hand,
to be invited in.
I cannot bring myself to name it, I’m not yet ready to relinquish the hold it has over me. I hoard it’s treasures, accumulating a wealth of self-destruct gold.
And shame,
shame also lies within.
The key to this door I wear on an
chain around my neck.
Maybe one day I’ll misplace it, no longer having need for the chaos it unlocks.

My conscience-shaped familiar steers me away and onwards towards door four.
My home.
It offers, for me,
a chance to breathe,
to regulate emotion,
a stepping stone towards re-entering, calmly, a daunting, sentient world.
I find warmth in the dark where others are given cause to shiver.
I find comfort in the dark where others find their demons.
I welcome it’s caress, it’s seductive song.
Here I keep my desires, my diamonds soaked in temptation.
They remind me I’m alive, and when the dark becomes oppressive, comfort no longer offered, I place a few in my pocket to sustain me until I visit again.

Door Five.
<deep breath, be brave, approach>
I raise my hand to knock, but let it fall, dejected and limp by my side. Palms sweaty, throat dry, tears used up, nothing in reserve. I ask myself, will He be angry that I took so long to approach? Will He be disappointed that fear of being seen to be vulnerable clouded my vision, leading me first to the doors which came before?
Conflicted, I regard this door I call Sir, and wonder why it always…
no, not always,
but sometimes,
too oft times,
when  my mind is a mess of chaos and fray…
takes me so long to walk through it?
When trauma bites, when pain becomes the blood in my veins, I run headlong into it, scattering room contents as I make my chaotic entrance, running past all other doors in the process. Panic draws me to Him, my source of oxygen when in vain, my breath I hold.
The path to Him littered with nonsensical reasoning.
Sometimes I stand outside this door in the vain hope that the cacophony of my thundering heart will alert Him to my presence, and under His wing He’ll invite me, humbled, small. I grow cold in those moments, and internally I crumble, looking back behind me into the seductive chasm of door three.
Question posed, internal monologue, reverberating around the corridors of my mind…
Do I ask too much of Him?
….as I stand, furious at the silence, expecting Him to know that something is wrong.
Truth; proximity provides sanctuary without the requirement of words. Distance requires faith, and the need to stare down my fears and rummage around to find the words
I’m not OK.
I replace ‘I’ with ‘We’ and understand that just as I’d provide sanctuary for Him if needed, so He does for me. No conditions, no expectations, simply a place to rest until the chaos wears itself out.
Door five is my healing, His touch a source of peace.
In kneeling there’s harmony, pure symbiosis.
Humility shown, protection given.
He is my door five.
At His feet there’s serenity, because of the raw state of me.

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