it’s midnight, here in my living room and it’s happening as i type and as i think and things go so fast.
it’s happening again :(. here’s a rant because I NEED TO TALK TO SOMEONE OR SOMETHING>
have you ever felt like ive ran through your veins? that every notion of being okay shatters like window-glass, the same window which you fleetingly thought of jumping out of? To land or to fly, so see and feel and feel cool air and breeze. The desire to light and burn things in flames. The thought that you are not okay and that something is WRONG. Because it is. You’ve seen my text. AFter that I wrote a to do list to tell and talk about in counseling. every line, every letter was a degeneration of my own mind and spirit, every letter spiraled and got bigger and more incomprehensible much like the thoughts that sprawl through my head in such an aimless manner. From lethargy and heaviness come this insatiable quickness of mind and anger which fuels my typing. There is speed, and agility, quickness from passion. What do I want? To stop my headache, to find a cure. To find something which will let me sleep for a while, and yet not go through life empty and looking and seeing nothing. Everything is so contrary. I don’t know how to get the things I want because I want opposites and I want to know, and to feel and yet to be in the dark where there could be lightness….nothing makes any sense, nothing makes any sense at all. My father is like a stranger to me, he seems to see nothing as well. Perhaps he knows nothing. That I have been my own person for quite some years is no secret. How does he expect me to abide by his every ruling and ridiculous rules when they have no logical sense in my mind. He believes h rules over my oen intellectual kingdom and I dare to say that he knows not what I think, and contemplates not what I feel. It is a one way mirror, it is, and I am left suffering. My thoughts do go haywire, my thinking deteriorates into forms which I can manage, the form of an academic essay. I want, i want, so badly, to make this slow, to slow down the thoughts and the words for they appear to me they appear in my mind and my fingers shall translate them to bits and bytes and let them scurry on over the wireless air to message servers worldwide. let the airwaves carry this message to you, a message about frustration and yearning for understanding and a fierce desire to make everything okay because it is not because it is wrong and someone must hear about it quickly and urgently. he talks to me now and retires to his slumbering, I wish he noticed me not. His care reminds me of he-who-must-not-be-named’s so well meant but wrongly delivered and abrasively interpreted. Is it I who has wronged? Or is it them, they who seek to understand and yet fail miserably for I am an impenetrable wall that yields not to the typical measures. What is wrong with me, and though it’s not a question you can answer I thought you ought to know that my mind doesn’t feel right doesn’t feel safe, and I don’t quite know what I shall do tonight to fix it. Nursery rhymes, battle hymn of the republic, the French Revolution, runs through it simultaneous with heartwrenching dramas from memory and emotional scarring from days of yore as well as recent encounters. I cannot fully elucidate the way I feel but it shall be conveyed in the means I best know how….I ramble on and on because the moment I stop I will have to go back into my life which is real and live back among the people, away from shadows and internet-logic. There isn’t peace for me anywhere at the moment. After a night’s slumber peace may await. I will have to journey into what is real to find what is right and what is good. What is good i can’t tell you, for I don’t know myself, in both senses of the phrase. I hope I can find a way to fix this soon….things aren’t sitting well not at all.
that’s the end of my post and i sincerely hope that in the morning there is tranquility where my mind resides. Do i wish for help? No. do I need it? Most certainly. But from who, and in what form? Ah, there is the mystery.