Un-Motivatedly Motivated. (The Power Of Ambivalence) Poem by Emeka GOC

Un-Motivatedly Motivated
(The Power of Ambivalence)

The Power of Ambivalence
I prayed for the journey,
Then cursed the destination
I begged for transfer,
Then dreamed of escape
I wanted the door opened,
Yet stood trembling
When it finally swung wide
I was un-motivatedly motivated.

Moved from one place
To another promised place,
From huge general hospital,
To specific mental health, forensic
From waiting to arrival,
Yet arrival felt sic
Like another waiting room.

The walls did not speak.
The corridors carried no answers.
My questions wandered
From nurse to nurse,
From desk to desk,
Like birds seeking a branch to patch
That never appeared.

Am I free?
Am I detained?
Am I a patient?
Or a prisoner of uncertainty?

No one seemed to know.
And uncertainty is a strange disease;
It feeds depression,
Drinks from confusion,
And grows strongest
When answers are silent

I cried.
Not because I was weak,
But because the heart grows heavy
When it carries questions alone
Then came a voice;
Not with solutions, But with listening
Not with commands, , But with curiosity
A voice that asked, 'What changed? '
A voice that remembered
What I had forgotten.

'Didn't you once wish to come here? '
And suddenly;
Two truths sat beside each other.
I wanted to stay.
I wanted to leave.
I wanted help.
I wanted freedom.
I wanted certainty.
I wanted escape.
And neither truth, Cancelled the other truth.
That is the power of ambivalence.

The river flows forward, While looking back.
The traveller reaches the village
Yet misses the road?
The patient seeks healing
Yet fears the treatment.
Two hearts beating inside one decision.

The listener did not argue.
Did not wrestle me into agreement?
Instead, placed patience beside pain
And asked them to talk.
'Wait.', Not forever.
Just long enough
'Wait.', For Monday to arrive.

Long enough, For the consultant to speak.
Long enough; For knowledge to replace fear.
Long enough; For choice to become informed.

'Wait.', Because sometimes
Recovery is not found, In running away.
And sometimes,
Recovery is not found, In staying still.
Sometimes recovery begins, In the quiet space
Between leaving And remaining.

In that sacred place
Where questions are allowed To breathe.
Where emotions are not corrected, But understood.
Where a person discovers, That they still possess
The one thing depression, Could not steal:
The power to choose.

So I sit, Waiting for answers.
Not defeated.
Not convinced.
Not fully settled.
But listening
To the conversation
Between my fear And my hope.
And perhaps that is enough
For today.

For change often begins
As a whisper, A hesitant thought,
A reluctant possibility
A person, un-motivatedly motivated
Taking one uncertain step,
Toward tomorrow.