Definition of the problem is the first step to finding the solution. Searching for everything, for nothing, for something other than this purgatory I am in.
That is what it feels like.
The firm ground I was once on is gone. Shifting sand, sinking peat moss. I jump across continents as my thoughts run away like a horse spooked by the wind through the trees.
That’s how I think dissimilar thoughts strung together to the point that the impossible becomes this kalidescope of overused metaphors and similies and I wonder if maybe everything has been done before.
Experimental writing, is it really experimental or maybe it is just recycled, reused and reduced to nothing but a former figment of favored fantasy.
To the point that nothing makes sense and I am trapped in a room full of looking glasses and I know that I can’t escape even though I have a lead hammer that breaks those mirrors but they rebuild as soon as they are smashed.
Then I wonder why I even bother. I’ve dug this huge hole of ridiculous situations and I can’t seem to turn around and go back.
When did this good girl become so messed up inside?
The realization of how broken I am makes me want to curl up inside a little hole and never ever move again.
I’m tired of being stuck of self reflection and the realization that reflection does nothing but make you second guess everything you thought you knew.
It amplifies things like ADD, PTSD, Anxiety and Narcolepsy.
Did you know I get panic attacks when I enter social situations? Sure, I hide it pretty darn well, but I have to battle the desire to run away. Even at church I have to fight the desire to leave the parking lot before I enter the building.
When did I become so lost?
I write the first sentence over and over and over again hoping that it will bring me to the last sentence but then I get distracted and can’t seem to remember the way I was going.
I have this innate refusal to plan and yet I need the structure.
Home, security and the feeling that something is real, solid, not going to change unexpectedly.
Are all things that I’ve lost and now I am a boat with no mooring.
I lost faith in life and I need to believe but how can I believe when I think believing is a lie?
Can’t edit real life so why the fixation on editing the written word? Mistakes made and maybe that is all life is.
Mistakes and then living in the Reflection of those mistakes.