I do not have the power to stop someone from falling into the grips of depression, or the tyranny of anxiety. But I will challenge their fears.
I will remind them of the road they’ve journeyed on. I will pluck out the rot within their core, until my fingers are blackened in filth. But I will make them see.
This is a reminder.
My thoughts put a voice to the lies. The flayed wound of nefarious feelings, making a home within me. They keep me hostage in a corner, so I dye the walls with my flesh, my blood, and my essence to mark the complexity of its strokes, painting me dark on the inside.
A wraith tethered to the pain on the tip of its visceral tongue, nursing its despairing narrative.
I am not these thoughts. And yet I cultivate this self-sabotaging.
The manifestation of poisonous social commentary, populated with puppets trying to categorize every single person in their consciousness, so they match up to their distorted beliefs.
Society perpetuates negativity and exacerbates fear. And we carry this infection within ourselves.
The mind is the destroyer. It latches onto the interference of toxicity.
People hold onto oppression. They project fear and build their identities around it. Drama is celebrated. Stupidity is liked. People of power just sweep their dirt underneath a mountain of coin. Media whores wear masks inscribed with “Please validate me” in bold red print on their foreheads.
Take yourself out of this hellish circus. Search for truth deeper within yourself.
I stare my fear in the face to humanize it. I must embody its flesh. Because if I can’t conquer the turmoil within myself, society will siphon off my self-preservation and leave me twitching in the dirt.
We’re all scared of something. But I won’t use it as an excuse to be an asshole to myself or anyone else.
I function with my anxiety and bouts of depression. It does not define me. I bury it, away from vacant eyes. And I push through the tide. They’d never know. It belongs to me.
I stopped running when I accepted there was no peace, when there was no way for me to escape myself. Let it kill me a thousand times, a spiritual demise, but I would rebuild myself from the ashes. I will fight for my life.
Curiosity keeps me sated.
I anticipate what else is out there to experience.
Inactivity would destroy me.
With every rebirth, I compile my demons and dissect their turbulence.
In a way it is to be of service to others, to provide guidance when it’s warranted. It’s also to push me beyond my ego.
Convey what it means to love with the most obscure part of your soul, to hate with the deepest regret, to endure the scars of heartbreak, and the madness of fickle dreams. To understand what it means to be human. Balance good and evil within.
To be human is to suffer. To encompass beauty despite imperfection.
Being trapped in my head is the worse part, the mental revolution of spiraling downward into total lunacy. I remind myself not to be enslaved by this fear.
I usually feel like I don’t belong. I bend stereotypes.
I don’t believe in any one thing, I embrace many.
I don’t fit into a mold. I just am.
People want labels. I want freedom of expression.
I want choices.
And I am comfortable with this difference, navigating through the various masses. To others this might not be acceptable, but to me, I wouldn’t want to belong to anything that will make me turn my back on something else.
My ascension is greater than their interpretation of me.
The symptoms of my frustration derive from self-imposed unhappiness and this concept of time running away from me. The aftermath of participating in the rat race.
I disperse grenades from the marrow of my grotesque thoughts, especially during restless nights, or from the root of my nightmares, giving them power over me.
This is used to break me. A symphony of my undoing.
Sorrow undressed my vulnerabilities and cloaked me in victim-hood. This was not my truth.
The past tormented me and the future promised impending doom. This was not my truth.
Ridding myself of the toxic entities floating around in my life and all I had left was me. And in hating myself I wanted to end myself. This was not my truth.
Thoughts flowing down a river, striving to purge their initial burst of emotion and separate myself from its ravage.
Society is the untreated patient, a collective of provocations.
It understands nothing of its history and continues to chase its tail.
I can disconnect from it.
Yet I will fight the greatest battle against myself.
Uneasiness is constant for me. I’ll always be afraid of the things I can lose. I’ll never fully unshackle from the feelings trapped on the inside. The panic, the stress, the rage, my leeches of scorn, suckling bone. But I’ll rip them off before they can consume me.
I am not a condition. I am not a bad day. I am not a reckless thought.
I am the creator of my perception.
In being who I am, I’ve come to realize the mastery of self.
My truth is to derive satisfaction in the person I already am rather than who I want to be.
I ask myself constantly:
What do I believe? What doesn’t work for me? What flaw must I accept? What’s in my control?
To evolve. Create art through words.
Become my own spirituality. Discard the despair.
Find what it means to be you.
via Daily Prompt: Ascend