Ramblings on a Sunday Afternoon

I'm an emotional wreck. I'm a slow moving train colliding into a large brick wall.

I know it. I feel it. I am controlling the speed of the dismal sinking into oblivion. My mind is so fucked up, there is nothing but a dark heavy cloud hanging over my head. My eyes blur as I examine the false silver lining. The sun is there, but why must it hide it's self? If the pain is there, why am I not allowing it to flood over me and let it drown me?

I think so loud when it's quiet it's deafening. Sometimes I quite literally hear the whoosh of entering back into reality and I quickly wonder how long I had been in the astral plain of self-discovery. I look around and wonder if everyone else noticed my vacant stare and hoped no one noticed or spoke to me. I wasn't there, but when am I ever?

I read my thoughts and think: this isn't me.

I'm not a depressed person. It feels like the cloak of darkness is something physical that I can push away and fight. I can converse into a compromise. How can I be crazy when I can feel the chemicals change in my brain? I know the sadness is coming so I wince waiting for the impact. It comes; I pretend it's just a yapping angry, ankle biting puppy. I kick the pain, it skids across the ground in pain and I keep going. I keep going because there is nothing else.

I refuse to let the anxiety of my ancestors take over. I am so aware of myself it's unbearable. Is there a such thing of being too self-aware? What's the point in knowing how I feel and knowing I can take handle over it... if there is nothing else to do with it? I write, but the words are fleeting. They slip from my mindscape onto electronic or tree-raised paper... and then the ink fades and dissolves into nothing. People read it and in the same way that I'm proud I'm also paranoid. This blog is filled with my inner most turmoil, expelling the happiness I do quite often feel.

Just because I document my sadness does not mean that happiness doesn't also dwell within me. I am a very happy person... but to document it is to abandon it. I abandon my sadness by writing it down and removing it from my though process. By putting my sadness into something solid I'm vanquishing it and removing it from my being. It's a process that works for me and I embrace it. Don't be confused by my teenage-like angst and my embellished pain... this blog is only but a small percentage of who I am. My bad spelling and poorly placed commas are just one of my many flaws I am working on.

I just hope for poetic justice and Shakespearean love... sans the death and despair.

I approach every day like a challenge and end it in a lumbering stride. My romantic disposition is only temporary and it only feeds my creative instincts to keep discovering new beauties in things I would've otherwise neglected. Hope is not what I have left, but is my partner in everything I do. Being comfortable with myself was my main accomplishment in this last year and now that I have that, it's time for the next challenge... sharing myself with someone special.

xoxo,

SallyD