And fuck what this person said and that person said or what he asked or what they don’t understand.
I’m having enough trouble explaining it to myself.
Still, that idea is difficult for most to grasp.
However, life is looking clearer from down here.
There are no distractions.
Like laying underwater, looking up at objects above.
It’s quiet and I only see general shapes, hear my heart beat which leaves no room to be weighed down by details; the minutia of everyday life.
And maybe the details wouldn’t be so bad except I have this way of blowing things out of proportion.
Plus I’m easily entertained when longing for entertainment.
This is when vices suffice and I find myself stuck inside my head.
Both places far from the voices of reason I’ve mindlessly ran from.
I find myself living without reality.
Like running on a treadmill, I go through the motions without ever moving forward.
It’s after these times when the words come.
Dancing across the lines of my mind showing me what to write, how to share.
This compulsion to write, even with no intent to speak out loud or perform is cathartic.
Leave it on a forum for whoever to see.
And I’m communicating with family at least for right now.
I’m sleeping in my bed again, my dog next to me.
This comfort my dog provides solidifies my idea of home.
Enough rest to realize, “this is it, this is life, I’ll be ok, I’m here.”
Like pointing out a raining sky or a full moon.
The obvious can be most exciting.
Still, the medication makes a great difference as does the one supplying it.
My psychiatrist is open-minded while still guiding.
He’s intelligent but learning.
He’s given me a combination which has allowed hope for the day we figure out how to remove this world I’ve been wearing on my shoulders.
Like militarized police, my battle doesn’t justify the attire.
Medication and the promise of therapy along with the introduction of a mentor who views this shit similarly—it can’t be too little too late.
If it is, I’ll write an “I owe you”, ask for an extension, get uncomfortale and keep moving.
Even when the well has dried, I’ll write.
Even when the basis is, “today was nice” or, “that shit sucked.”
I can’t allow my life up until now to be for nothing, I’ve thought a lot about this.
There has been wrongfully convicted felons serving time the entire length of my life.
How wasteful humans have been, which is why I can’t be.
There are black communities who never had the opportunity for help, even when they asked for it; when they needed it.
Families locked in cages, just miles away from me.
A community of LGBTQIA being forcefully told to change who they are.
Endless examples of why I can’t just lay down and die.
I know I’ve only just emerged from a mixed state—or was I hypomanic ?
I’m still learning, I’m still learning, I’m still learning.
I’m still feeling the veil brush past my face as it makes way to the floor, and I realized I haven’t been saying any positive affirmations lately.
All of this begs the question, “If I applied what I know now, then, would I have done it all differently?”
prguitarman
stormborns
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton