I decided, sometime now long past, that i would be honest. at least with myself.
My undergrad is in Psych and, as you know, I have had a breakdown experience, and along the way I converted to honesty and away from repression. I would think a thought, I committed, I would acknowledge it, no matter what.
even when my chest tightens, and my mind goes vertiginous at the possible implications of some one of my thoughts
i think it through anyway.
I choose to be brave as i walk through my mind.
i choose to look into corners with shadows and cobwebs, and invite the spider to tell me what it knows. secrets.
this is my path, it is singular at all times because only I can really walk it
everyone else is just hearing about it, second-hand.
after years on this road, i have come to a maze, I have come to Wonderland, I have come to ruin, I have come to despair
I have not often come to Beauty or Rest
I have not ever come to peace.
This is a deprivation.
every moment's repose has been an effort
so large are the questions
so few, and sometimes frightening, are the answers
I seldom think the thoughts I want to think
i rarely feel the way i always think I should
I would if i could.
My mind, it is a landscape unforgiving and too often bare.
And i know
i know that i am meant to paint it, to paint and to
I have not yet found my tools.
I am hoping i am on my way.