The passing days have been fuelled by my anxious state. Thought has been too much to contemplate, rendering writing of comprehension and insight impossible.
I’ve been all over the place, unable to anchor down, flitting from agitated thought to agitated thought. I haven’t wanted to order them, or see them in print, for fear I would implode, crumble under their magnitude, cease to exist through their vast rate of infection. My famous Functioning Act has been 5 star as of late, though to me, it is lacking more than ever in authenticity. The reality of my head can no longer be denied, for suffocation is imminent if I don’t soon surface for air.
The search for ‘ the right thing to do ‘ is a burden. It is fruitless. It is hollow. How can one ever know? Life breeds choices, and never will we get to find out how The Other Choice would have turned out. Why then, do I spend hours living in a land of imagined, alternative outcomes, subjecting myself to much turmoil and pain in the process? I can only live by what I felt was best at that time , I attempt to reassure myself. I couldn’t afford to take The Other Choice, I attempt to convince myself. Going back now will only prolong the agony and I don’t have the luxury of time, I attempt to console myself. The right thing to do feels so uncomfortably wrong, but then, comfort is a scarce commodity in my current existence, not easy to come by. A world absent of comfort is one of impending doom that no one can save you from or even be there to hold your hand while you wait for the inevitable threat to strike. A world without comfort is frighteningly cold and desolate – but no amount of warmth can melt the freeze, no amount of company can disperse the isolation.
And so it is, in my state of isolation, that the loneliness has become too much to bear. My will has fought a tough battle but can withstand the sheer force of the attack no longer. I had accepted The Mission with no end in sight and no guarantee of a favourable outcome, and I had believed I could live in this endless way. But I can’t. It’s killing me, strangling my relationships and disregarding any sense of self I once had. I don’t recognise who I am any more. I can’t possess the body and mind I walk around in. I’m saddened by the devastation of my Soul. I have been floored by the force I went into battle with. I need to dig deep and see the strength in this admission, flogging my long dead horse with the weakness is all too easy. If only I could see the Pill as a vitamin, as essential as A, C, D,B and E and every other one that a body needs to be able function. But for now, it is my poison, my capsule of failure, a symbol of defeat, a negation of my months of battle. It is, a bitter pill to swallow.