There are days when I think I'm falling apart. Stresses press down on me, and I feel I'm in danger of collapsing under their weight. It passes, though: it comes in a wave, and like a wave, it crashes onto the beach of my thought to subside back into the subconscious waters of its creation. There are, too, some days where feel as if I could bear the weight of the world and not buckle. These times clad me as if in an invincible armor, but these, as well, wash away as if they never were. I think, I know, that perhaps everyone feels something of these ups and downs, but mine somehow seem unnatural, artificial, conspired. Too desperate or too bold to be of sane air, I try not to plunge too far down, nor revel too high.
I ask you, madness, will you never leave me? Will you ever linger in the bottom of my mind, reaching up from time to time and wrench my heart out of place? It is a strange curse, one that at moments helped me discover my true self — the self I was afraid to face. But I am tired, O living blot. Let me be. I want only to live my life, like anyone.
