I wish reality wasn't so poisonous. I wish I knew if it is me that is poisonous instead, toxic to myself, and to others. I have burnt all my bridges, just as I tried to build new ones. Can I truly blame my sick mind for my mistakes? And if not, then holding myself accountable for my faults, for my wrong doings driven by my mood swings means I can't possibly feel compassion for myself.
Freedom from pain might be temporary and it comes at a great price. I try not to look back and regret my mistakes, made when I was not myself.
I am myself now. This new found strength and clarity feel foreign to me after spending so much time in the dark. I am having a hard time feeling inspired, mostly because my brain is not used to stability. No highs and lows dictating my creativity, only my brain, strangely sharp and clear, only my thoughts, coherent and free of pain. If desperation and suffering will no longer inspire my art, I wonder what will........
I am currently recovering from a Depressive episode. I did not see this one coming, not the warning signs or the initial symptoms. Before you know it everything becomes an effort and you are nothing but a shadow of your former self. Unresponsive, somber and slow. Your mind becomes your worst enemy. It torments you with a constant, dreadful nagging. All you can hear in your head, every hour of every day, is the frightening voice of your conscience reminding you of all your inadequacies, your failure to feel any kind of joy and your inability to perform any task due to crippling exhaustion.
For days and weeks I loathed my thoughts and I hated my mind.
Sometimes there are just no words to truly describe the ugliness, the tiredness and lingering hopelessness that clouds your thoughts. You find yourself in a dark, empty room and you can't see a way out. . The sublime isolation barely brings relief, for every day is another day lost to this never ending chaos of emotions. At the end you just sit there and watch others live their lives and you wonder how they do it.......
Without a touch of madness, changing your perception of reality, creating this exquisite flow of ideas that make sense to no one but yourself. Without the beauty and wonderment that madness can sometimes bring, so unusual and foreign to everyone else around you, without a certain degree of madness the soul withers. It is this relentless sense of purpose, the intoxicating amount of possibilities that can drive you mad and make you feel alive at the same time. This is a curse and a blessing.