I try to ward off the negativity that tends to soar through the air and seep through the pores of my skin, with candles, incense, exercise and meditation. Today I have been trying to grasp that moment while it is happening and take it for what it is. The breath is what will ground me.

What do the ruins say today?... 

Xx

~ Lady PhoeniX 

Amphetamine-induced insomnia is never one of my favourite states. I feel every beat of my heart pounding as if I was willingly taking a hammar to my chest from the inside. I can feel the blood pulsating through my body, from and back to my heart. My eyes are blurry and all I see is silhouettes of what should be clear and defined images. I feel weak, like I am walking on the moon, and that I am floating unsteadily every time I try to walk in a straight line. I feel faint and shaky. The anxiety rises only because the speed makes everything seem more emotionally and physiologically drastic than it truly may be. . . then again, it was only recently that I have relapsed into an episode just months ago. The sharp pain shooting through the right side of my head is begging me to try something new - logic says, this is the only way to get through it all - through school, and my scattered unorganized thought patterns. 

Fyrelith is in bed, dancing in his dreams or perhaps not dreaming at all. He is finally sleeping. I am so happy that tonight as his head hit the soft pillow, he fell deeply into sleep. His deep breathing gives me comfort as the night forces upon me certain terrors that no one should really have to suffer. I will talk about these soon. . . with someone other than myself for once. The way I am frightened each evening and night becomes worse and worse. I wish only for an explanation at least, if not a cure.

Tick tock, tick tock, goes the now mysteriously working clock. It is the only noise I hear besides the breathing and rustling of the bedsheets in the bedroom. It reminds me of how quickly time can pass, even when it seems like it is moving slowly. I am fearful of not living, yet fearful of moving. Decisions become obstacles of functioning properly as a human being and I am at fault for my indecision about what consequences are better than others. Do I leave and simply risk the hole I would inevitably dig for myself? Or do I stay, and risk placing myself in the second hole I have already dug myself, in which I placed a coffin made out of old theoretical books on politics, geography, psychology, science and anthropology? I'm not sure if the choice is hard because of finances, or that because both of them end up in an inevitable difficult path that may lead to a casket - out of stress or. . . out of stress. 

Maybe the choice is hard because the outcome is the same - not because it is all that much different. 

End Rant.

XX 

~ Lady PheoniX

  I have not forgotten you, even though the burden has been slightly lifted. With all of your blood dripping from my hands, I have become unsuspecting of myself for a moment - that I had really been free enough to forgive myself for the mistakes I have made. I can feel the blood flowing heavily through my veins. It pounds with viscous connotation, as if about to explode and saturate all of my surrounding with a deep profound red. The type of red that symbolizes love, hate, passion... fire. The only marks the combustion would leave is that of contradiction, leaving everyone just as lost as the now escaping blood pouring down the side of some man-made wall with a bit too much floral.

   People will come in and out of your life, and not just by disappearing or dying. They will also part as they slowly or abruptly lift off the masks they have crafted for you to see. . . and many of the times . . . underneath those psychological masks. . . there was never a person at all. It was just some figment of their own imaginations projected out upon the world while searching for gullible others to believe the face they wish to portray. You lose people in many ways. I'm just not sure which way is worse. A human can in one moment, in a flash of a split second, be turned into a beast. . . the reasons. . . also many.

  Today, I am a black hole, sucking out all of the positivity and beauty in the world and tainting it with rust and mold. I cannot stop it, and the world around me collapses inside of my body. What is it that I am feeling at this point? Does any of it even matter at all? Is it merely falling down back upon itself? So thankful for being here. . . So thankful for this chance. . . So how can I allow myself to be pulled into the forest, with only my instinct to guide me through it? And why do I crawl into that cave instead of continuing to search for the way back to the road?

   Manic. Manic depressive.

Xx ~ Lady PhoeniX