It has been a good 4 months since I have done any form of "formal" writing. This is due to the uncontrollable need that life has for kicking us ordinary people right in the nuts. I have been busy, that is the easy way to say it. Busy dealing with my mental health, getting through graduation, dragging out a long vacation, basking in the attention of visiting family, aiding my formidable knack for unemployment, and trying to figure out how the hell to do the whole college thing. The list of both amazing and terrible experiences goes on and on. So rather than rant and rave about my experiences over the past months, I figured I would present you with my next piece.
Today, I woke up feeling rather anxious, and overly emotional (neither of which are abnormal for me). However, rather than sitting and trying my hand meditation for the umpteenth time, or bothering one of my amazing friends, I decided to go back to the one thing that always seems to give me a boost: Writing. As if you even had to guess....
While my writing sessions that are fueled by pure emotion and panic are usually kept to myself, I brought it up to a very close friend that I had written to make myself feel better. I also told her that what I had wrote would never be seen by the eyes of those around me. So this is me telling you, that I lied to my friend. I don't know what it is about this piece, or it's contents that makes me giddy to share it, but I figured I might as well just follow my instincts. Now, mind that this was written in a rather fragile and emotional state of mind, so it may come across dramatic, but I hope you enjoy regardless
Why am I crying?
All these emotions, thoughts and pangs of doubt. They swirl through my mind, leaving me breathless, and on the brink of decline.
It would be so easy.
To be swept up in the negative connotations of my feelings within, but instead I cry, and think about what it means to give in.
To give up.
I don't know what it is that keeps me alive. It's not an inner strength that I posses, because I have none. It's not the hopeful belief of clinging to a faith, because I don't have one.
So what could it be that keeps me standing at the center of the monstrous mess that is my head? Deep down, I know that it could only be one thing.
But why am I afraid to say it?
For now I will not wander in search of an answer. But rather ponder the same disconcerting question over and over.
Why am I crying?