You couldn’t tell him what to do
an adult trapped as a child
Didn’t want to be pitied or patronized
and didn’t think he was worthy of love

Often excited by reinvention
and the thrill of a new challenge
Spoke boldly for the shock factor
he really had no boundaries

He would start by saying,
“Perhaps you can help me.”
Then push you away
if you got too close

Said what he thought you wanted to hear
even he didn’t know what was true
Cannot fathom the amount of anxiety
he lived with for so long

ADD, addiction, anxiety
bipolar, depression, OCD,
PTSD, and Tourette’s,
whatever the case may have been

Brain structures had been maimed
by the past and countless chemicals
Circuits for emotion, memory, and motivation
had him caught in dysregulation

When your reptilian brain takes over
you cannot make prudent decisions
Neurochemical imbalance
no wonder he sought comfort

Every day the thoughts he had
ate at his sanity
Was always seeking an escape
really of any kind

It was too agonizing for him
to attempt to completely re-wire
Innocuous mentions of self-help
would sometimes trigger flashbacks

Felt ashamed of all his poor choices
and how he continued to make them
Didn’t think there was any amount
of penance that could free him

His perception was obviously skewed   
but in some ways he had clarity
His life had become unmanageable
with trepidation and self-destruction

The anger was mounting inside of him
he was afraid of hurting others
Asked me what my limit was
told him not sure ‘cause I hadn't reached it

Did everything I could to support
without being coercive
In the end help only works
if someone wants to get better

He was embarrassed for me for claiming him
despite his reputation with the ladies
Felt sorry for how the derby world may react
thought my flaw was in loving him

And so he pushed until I caved
and took away his light
But I think it was before that
he had already decided

The boy who cried wolf wasn’t as loud at the end
affirming to me he was healing
He made his choice and forced me to fold
I need to believe that he found peace

Looking back it’s obvious
How carefully he had planned it
But we can only do our best
with what we know at the time

He believed that everyone
should be able to write their own ending
It was only a matter of time
that’s what I’m choosing to believe

If not now, then when?
Would sedation have really helped?
Taking away what mattered most
his creativity and excitement

Hospitalization would have trapped him
a brilliant mind in restraints
To either end in weary submission
or as a caged animal who had tasted blood

He felt his prime was over
and that he could only go downhill
Feared aging and disappointment
didn’t like how his body had changed

No point in me obsessing
over missing puzzle pieces
Just read some of his writing
he was troubled, plain to see

He always said words were a dance
and that he rarely meant them
But actions speak louder than words
and he really made a statement