Cold Comfort or Change?

So, so you think you can tell  
Heaven from Hell
Blue skies from pain  
Can you tell a green field 
From a cold steel rail?  
A smile from a veil?  
Do you think you can tell?
 
Did they get you to trade  
Your heroes for ghosts?  
Hot ashes for trees?  
Hot air for a cool breeze?  
Cold comfort for change?  
And did you exchange  
A walk-on part in a war  
For a lead role in a cage?
 
How I wish, how I wish you were here  
We're just two lost souls  
Swimming in a fish bowl  
Year after year  

Running over the same old ground  
What have we found?  
The same old fears  
Wish you were here.

Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here

Story by Quercus

You awake alone on the forest floor. A wall of grey branches arches over you, closing you into the brambles; skeletal fingers of former life jutting in at you, pointing. Dead leaves, brown and brittle, mask the stony earth. There is little light. In this grey and confining place there are few sounds. How you got to this cold, dead and eerie place quickly begins to become less of a problem as what you're going to do about it now.

Ahead of you is a rough trail, partly over-grown with thorny brambles and leafless branches. The fog has closed in more, and visibility has decreased to a scant few feet in front of you. You look up to the sky, which seems to end just above your head; there is no outline of clouds or glow of sun. All you see above, behind and in front of you is a dense grey fog.

Wisps of white rise around you, bright against the grey trunks and thorns. They float soundlessly, seemingly as spectres in your peripheral vision. They disappear when you turn to look. Ground fog, swamp gas, something natural, you plead with yourself. Not ghosts, not ghosts, you repeat again and again under your breath. Stare at the ground, don't look up.

Without another option, you set off down the misty grey trail. It isn't inviting, but must lead somewhere, you reason. Anywhere but here, you hear yourself say. The way is rocky and full of twisted, hardened roots. You must travel very slowly, else risk a sprained ankle, or worse. It winds back and forth, and pitches gently up a while, then down again. Sometimes it's straight for what seems like miles.

Cautiously, step by tentative step, you travel along the forest road. It is just wide enough for you to pass by, the dry bones of branches reaching and occasionally tugging at your sleeves and ankles.

There is no chirping of birds. No signs of life. There are few noises. The fog scatters sound-waves in the air. The sound of your own footfalls thud loudly in your ears one moment, then fade to silence; then they seem to be coming from behind you, or in front of you, or from far below.

You shiver. It's cold, and you've been walking for minutes, maybe hours. Your mind begins to play tricks on you - you start to hear voices on the wind (but there is no wind). Not voices, animals calls or something. You cannot convince yourself. A disembodied voice laughs somewhere far away to your right. You startle and feel a hand grab your shoulder - turning with a jerk, you realise it was only a branch that you backed into on this narrow trail.

Boom, boom, boom. Your heart pounds in your ears. The mocking laughter - Was it laughter? - has faded away. Apart from the pulsing of the blood through your ears, the grey woods are silent once more. Boom, boom, boom.

Take a deep breath - calm yourself. You close your eyes and try to settle your senses. You open your eyes again. Still, the trail leads ever on, as uninviting as ever. Maybe I should turn around - did I miss a turning?

The horror of what you see behind you causes you to gasp aloud and stumble back. It can't be - it's the same wall of grey thorny branches that you've been walking away from. How can this be? How can this be? You've been walking for hours and hours by now, your feet are aching - yet you haven't moved an inch?

No. You turn around at look ahead at the trail. It's changed; it bends slightly down and to the left now. You have been going somewhere. You just can't go back. Forward along the trail is your only option.

Suddenly you hear another noise - it seems close by. A breathing, a menacing growling breath.

You panic and run, running along the rocky trail with no real visibility because of the fog. You don't know what you'll meet until you reach it, and you can only hope it won't be worse than what you're running from. On and on you go, your lungs burning. The breathing sounds as if it's coming right down the back of your neck. Faster, faster you sprint, here and there stumbling on a root or a rock, fearful you'll fall helplessly to the ground. The laughter returns. They're laughing at me! Tears begin to flow - you're running out of steam and slowing.

You have no option - you have to break your run. Gasping for breath, you look behind you. Nothing, just the familiar wall of grey branches. The laughter, the breathing - it's silent again for now. Anger erupts from your soul like a volcano spewing a pyroclastic floe. Why are you doing this to me?! You scream, challenging the faceless grey fog. Let me go! Let me go! You kick at the brambles. The laughter starts up again, seemingly enjoying your descent into hostility.

The light levels haven't changed. You've been here for at least a day by now, but the sun hasn't set, or rose, and the grey fog hasn't dissipated. You're exhausted, but the thought of lying down to rest is laughable. You've very nearly accepted your situation; you can't escape, you can't retrace your steps, and the trail goes ever onwards.

You laugh dully to yourself. You begin to crack up. It's impossible! You laugh like a madman. There's no escape!

Endlessly you wander on along the endless path, no longer jumpy. Your torment has been complete, and you feel you're losing your mind. This isn't so bad! I like long walks on the beach, why not the forest?! Your voice sounds insane to you as you try to adapt, to accept - you're losing your grip.

On and on and on the path goes. You never sleep; you trudge on forever, forever along the rough forest path in the dense, grey fog.

Then one way, long after you've suspected you've at least partially lost your mind, there's a fork in the road.

An aged and greyed wooden sign on a post points to an even darker, even more thorny and overgrown path that you'll have to crouch to pass through. The sign reads "this way out". Inside the tunnel of this 'exit path' it is nearly pitch black.

You pause. The path you're on suddenly doesn't seem so bad. It's consistent, it's familiar, and you don't need to stoop much to travel along on it.

You have a choice. You can trust that the sign is telling you the truth - it's the only sign you've seen on this journey - and get on your hands and knees and crawl down the dark and scary path towards freedom. It's an even rougher road than the one you're on, and you have no information as to the length of the path or where exactly you'll end up on the other side.

Or, you could continue down the path that you know. The never-ending, rocky, spooky path where there's no way but forward and nowhere to rest. You can continue ever onwards, forever and ever, in the ever fainter and fainter hope that one day, somehow, you'll walk clear of the woods.

That faint hope fades quickly though, because the only "exit" sign you saw (and may ever see) was this one....

This is the life of the ACoN. A never-ending treacherous path that you're born into and which has no escape. A rat trapped in a maze. You can't go backwards because you can't turn back time. This is how you will live your life, forever.

Did they get you to trade  

Your heroes for ghosts?  

Hot ashes for trees?  

Hot air for a cool breeze?  

Cold comfort for change?  

Then one day, a glimmer of hope in the form of an 'exit'. The exit, however, might appear even less attractive than The Twilight Zone-like existence you've had to adapt to. And you have no guarantee what you'll encounter along that dark rabbit-hole tunnel to 'freedom'. You'll have to humble yourself to do it, too. You can't walk tall along the exit tunnel.

So it's your choice. The never-ending grey forest trail, or the scary exit path. An eternity of playing someone else's cruel game, or temporary discomfort for real freedom.

 

And did you exchange  

A walk-on part in a war  

For a lead role in a cage?

As someone who's currently crawling her way along the pitch-black 'exit' tunnel, I can say that there have been times that I wanted to turn back. Times where I thought I'd jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Let me say this - one year into professional counselling (by a psychologist), the kind support of a loving husband (a close friend could help you if you haven't got a spouse), many many tears, nightmares and heartaches, coupled with 'low contact' and firm boundaries set for my parents (who rail against them and attempt to breach them on a regular basis), and I can see a glimmer of daylight. Sometimes a glimmer, sometimes full daylight. The path opens, then constricts, then opens again. It's exhausting. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, in fact. It's harder than you could imagine without having done it yourself.

"Opening Door Sounds Alarm" - Truer words have never been spoken.

But it's worth it, it's SO worth taking the "way out", no matter how hard it may be. Because without hope, what do you have?

Running over the same old ground  

What have we found?  

The same old fears  

Wish you were here.

Need to hold a hand for support while you head down the exit path? We're here for you. We've been down that path already and have stepped clear of it, or are a little ways ahead of you.

One day, you can return the favour and help hold the hand of another ACoN when it's their time to muster the courage to brave the dark path to freedom. You will know how important that exit path was to take, and you'll want to encourage others to break free of the psychological bonds that keep them trapped in a waking nightmare.