The Haunting

The haunting of my own self

I feel sick Jane. I feel absolutely sick of these emotions churning up in my stomach, tying profusely into a knot, and trying to lash out in a heap of unfiltered thoughts and words straight into my head.

I’m not sure I can process all of this at once. I’m not sure if I should be able to.

Jane, sometimes I want to stab myself with this pen right into the back of my head and create a hole, so whenever it gets too much, I would have an outflow.

At least, it would keep me from painting these walls with the insides of my brain. It could turn out to be a masterpiece. No one will get it, but you would, wouldn’t you, Jane?

Jane, people sometimes ask me if I get bored. When I sit nonchalantly, innocuously with my eyes fixated on the carelessly painted walls, while the visions penetrate far above and beyond in search of the dimensions where my nightmares have an existence of their own, it terrifies people. They think I’m creepy and odd. So, they ask me if I’m bored.

But that’s the thing, Jane. I’m never bored. Ever. There are so many things, thoughts, emotions, zones, running, and happening inside of my head that I don’t have the time to get bored. Instead, I get haunted, Jane.

I am haunted by myself, by this head of mine, and whatever it churns out at that particular point in time. A ghost of all things beautiful, desirable, and yet out of reach.

Sometimes this feeling is followed by a bout of desperation, disappointment, and guilts of 57 different kinds that, over a period of time, transforms into bitterness, hate, and anger. Oh, some days it’s so lovely to be in here!

And no matter how much I try to fill this ever-approaching feel of emptiness with ordinary, normal facades of everyday life, the ghost returns, eventually.

And Jane, there is no exorcism in this world that is powerful enough to free me of its bondage. There is no joy in this world that is deep enough to fill this vacuum of emptiness…in my soul, is it?

Well, at least, there’s no permanent cure. The temporary ones help, sometimes.

So, Jane, this is my life now and this is how I feel from the time I drag myself up to the moment I thankfully pass out.

I’ve probably done well to accept and embrace this side of me, even if it means that I’m always angry and intense. More intense in each and every moment than they all could be in their entire lifetime.

And this intensity carries so much energy that sometimes I am willing to take one hundred of them, at once, without a single care about the consequences, just to let it all out. Just to let some of it out, at least.

But I won’t, Jane. I won’t do that.

You might think of it as a wise decision, but let me tell you, Jane, this is the most dangerous thing out of all of this.

This is the thing that scares me the most, Jane.

The fact that I have now learned to control all of it, and its overwhelming nature.

The fact that I have that kind of power over it.

And, the fact that I’m the master of it.

This is the scariest part of it, Jane, and yet, I love it! You would understand this thrill, wouldn’t you, Jane?

The blinding light laser through my eyes,
And penetrates my brain with a purpose;

The neurons in there are dark and disturbed,
From things that are ordinary and naive;
The neurons in there are dark and disturbed,
But, finally, they see a reason to fight;
This light found a way to rattle my inside,
All it took was a tinge of hope,
This light almost turned me back into a human,
It came oh so close!

But darkness, my baby, it won’t let it happen,
Not now, not ever;
She’s me, I’m her, united into one,
Now and forever…

But you already knew all of this already, didn’t you, Jane?

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