Tonight my fingers are drawn towards the keyboard, I need to write, the force of the need is so urgent, my fingers to the keyboard like the lips of two lovers, almost lust as they touch and sparks fly, my mind needs its release.
I have always been a person with an active mind, not always in a productive way, it could be said that it has more of a chaotic design, where thoughts swirl around, criss-crossing over in curves, lines, dots, they intertwine and divide making specific thought sometimes hard to achieve. Creativity however has never been a problem thanks to this colourful abyss that is my mind.
I have had a very nerve racking month, my hands are shaking just thinking how to begin, it has been too much to process, too fast to mourn.
I feel the shock in my body, the tears trapped somewhere inside me, I can feel the sharp edges of their prison, it grows day by day, pressing my stomach, making me nauseous daily, yet my mind is determined to tell me I’m fine. My “monstruation” disappeared, my sleep disturbed, my heart broken but still my mind tells me to go on, go faster, don’t think about it.
Coping. That’s the word everyone uses,
“How are you coping? You seem to be coping well!”
What the hell does that even mean?
You’re holding in your feelings and lying to yourself well, yes, we’re all so proud, you’re fucking up your mind holding it all in and smiling, congratulations! You’re now normal!
Almax is best friend, along with valium and enantyum.
One to kill the physical pain of the stress, one to numb the part of me that wants to scream and one to stop me from throwing up stomach acid.
And people are proud of this.
Because I am… “Coping”.
I have started to think that maybe those that are “mentally unstable” are the ones that actually see how this world is, we are the ones who’s feelings have not yet been annihilated by society and its “feelings are stupid” rule.
Are we the insane ones or is it the rest of the population?