My mind is a cacophony of crap. I just wish it would all go away. The feelings of inadequacy and desperation, the frustration that comes from my mind's interpretation of how things are, the twisted misery of never being happy, the endless search for the meaning of life, and trying to understand all the possible ways that the meaning can and will change as life changes. And my losses seem so big sometimes that I cannot get over wishing life were different. The whys and what nows swirl around my head like demons making my dizzy and sick.
cocaphony of crap
As I start writing out the lies my mind has wrapped itself around I am finally confronted with the lack of truth in them. Writing is powerful. I cannot even write the things I have been thinking because their stupidity is revealed as I type. And the power they have on me is lessened. I breathe again.
Why is it so easy to slip into thinking that everything is wrong? Why do the losses stack up with so much more weight than the joys?
Why must that bright heart be so small?
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I heard a voice this evening whispering "turn on the wax...turn on the wax...turn on the wax." Such healing power art has: seeing my self poured onto the blank white board and turning out something that so satisfyingly shows that I can do something, make something, learn something, and perhaps be something stronger than I feel right now.
*satisfied sigh*
Time to let sleep wash over me.
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As I start writing out the lies my mind has wrapped itself around I am finally confronted with the lack of truth in them. Writing is powerful. I cannot even write the things I have been thinking because their stupidity is revealed as I type. And the power they have on me is lessened. I breathe again.
Why is it so easy to slip into thinking that everything is wrong? Why do the losses stack up with so much more weight than the joys?
Why must that bright heart be so small?

I heard a voice this evening whispering "turn on the wax...turn on the wax...turn on the wax." Such healing power art has: seeing my self poured onto the blank white board and turning out something that so satisfyingly shows that I can do something, make something, learn something, and perhaps be something stronger than I feel right now.
*satisfied sigh*
Time to let sleep wash over me.