False Sense Of Power
I am exhausted by this desperation.
I am lost in the sea of my own confusion, grown on that ever-so-fertile soil of imagination, time, and loneliness.
Today I don't know the why of my own existence. It occurs to me that such knowledge is a rare gift for anyone, and that many people never spend long hours waiting for inspiration to explain everything that is, was, will be--I am not one of those people. I am searching all the time for some justification, some explanation, some hope that will make this everything seem more worthwhile. I have concluded that the search is a major source of my daily discomfort with life, that the need is useless to my immediate being, and that if I could erase the wanderlust from my thoughts I might take whatever consequences would follow.
I fear my insanity. I fear it like a trapped thing fighting for life, knowing myself to be utterly outnumbered, but fighting because it is the only response I can dredge up. If this instability is the price I must pay for the blessing of my intellect, of my spirit, I am not certain that I would trade in the one just to lose the other. When I am down, when I am so covered in the Mud that just breathing has become an impossibly difficult task, I am certain that any price would be worth paying simply to be rid of it. When I am up, when I can spend a week at a time not considering the impact this or that action will have on my psyche, I am certain that the pain was more fever-dream than real, and that I love myself, and that being smart, fast, bright, and capable is worth nearly any price that the world could claim from me.
I just want a more predictable life, I suppose. The randomness of my cycling is what most defeats me because I must either be prepared for it all the time or fall hard when it raises up again. And the fall--the fall is terrible, endless, horrifying. Hitting the bottom is without sensation, without hope, just a surface upon which to lay myself until chance or circumstance teach me how to stand again and climb again and be who I most wish myself to be. I just want to be normal, but even that wouldn't be satisfying because to be normal I would have to give up my positive abnormalities along with my negative ones. So I guess I just want a greater sense of control, regardless of whether it's real or not, just an idea of power to sit in the back of my mind and make me feel as if I could do something else but I am choosing to do this.
I am lost in the sea of my own confusion, grown on that ever-so-fertile soil of imagination, time, and loneliness.
Today I don't know the why of my own existence. It occurs to me that such knowledge is a rare gift for anyone, and that many people never spend long hours waiting for inspiration to explain everything that is, was, will be--I am not one of those people. I am searching all the time for some justification, some explanation, some hope that will make this everything seem more worthwhile. I have concluded that the search is a major source of my daily discomfort with life, that the need is useless to my immediate being, and that if I could erase the wanderlust from my thoughts I might take whatever consequences would follow.
I fear my insanity. I fear it like a trapped thing fighting for life, knowing myself to be utterly outnumbered, but fighting because it is the only response I can dredge up. If this instability is the price I must pay for the blessing of my intellect, of my spirit, I am not certain that I would trade in the one just to lose the other. When I am down, when I am so covered in the Mud that just breathing has become an impossibly difficult task, I am certain that any price would be worth paying simply to be rid of it. When I am up, when I can spend a week at a time not considering the impact this or that action will have on my psyche, I am certain that the pain was more fever-dream than real, and that I love myself, and that being smart, fast, bright, and capable is worth nearly any price that the world could claim from me.
I just want a more predictable life, I suppose. The randomness of my cycling is what most defeats me because I must either be prepared for it all the time or fall hard when it raises up again. And the fall--the fall is terrible, endless, horrifying. Hitting the bottom is without sensation, without hope, just a surface upon which to lay myself until chance or circumstance teach me how to stand again and climb again and be who I most wish myself to be. I just want to be normal, but even that wouldn't be satisfying because to be normal I would have to give up my positive abnormalities along with my negative ones. So I guess I just want a greater sense of control, regardless of whether it's real or not, just an idea of power to sit in the back of my mind and make me feel as if I could do something else but I am choosing to do this.