What Dreams May Come

Have you ever hated yourself...for every word you spoke and every breath you took? Like the earth crumbled beneath your feet pulling you deeper and deeper limb by limb into an asphyxiation of self collapse? By having your own original thoughts and ways of deduction that you were somehow guilty of such atrocious crimes you should be eternally punished?

What did we do? What did I do? I find no value in what I say, I say things and I think things because if you don't know then who's going to tell you? And no one should, that's the beauty of being an individual and living a life, no matter how similar to anyone else's it is purely your own. But I hate what I say. I feel like when I speak it will be taken all wrong and then it will be shoved down my throat and I'll go into penance for the next decade as a way of punishing myself. I can't get over it. I hate myself for things that I don't understand...and I lock myself away, I torment myself with the utmost mental brutality. I know it's all irrational, I know the things I say are completely normal, why should I be punished for preferring Spirituality over Christianity? Or...pink over orange....the sea to a lake? I don't know. It's ridiculous isn't it? It's INSANE and yet that's the way I feel. I hate ever finding myself thinking that my words and my thoughts have value or precedence over someone else's. I hate seeing other people's pain and knowing that I can't fix it, that I can't detract from it and generally can't even understand it because I've only experienced a sliver of what I am sure is a vast abyss of pain. A never ending spectrum of torment from physical, mental, spiritual, and everything in between.

Sometimes I want to lay in bed and just die, just cease to be because I feel so robbed and so utterly helpless. I feel defeated. How ridiculous right? How completely miserable and selfish. But sometimes I just don't know how to go on when there is so much. I know it's all in my head. It's a fabrication of the pain of others and myself. My own mental hell. I can't even write a simple email without reading it 50 times before and after I've sent it. It's like hide and go seek from under a desk. You see the seeker's feet shuffle past, and then abruptly stop. Your heart starts pounding violently as you try to suppress the sound of your breath but it only seems to get louder and LOUDER as every muscle in your body tenses with anticipation. I can't turn it off...I can't sooth it. I just fly into tears and lock myself in my room of perdition. Scrutinizing every thought, wanting nothing more than to turn it all off. So why don't I turn it all off? Because in all of this is truth. In all of this is why life is so amazing and beautiful. In all of this irony and ridiculousness there's love and compassion and understanding. There is a craving so strong to want to know more than what is felt inside myself and only of myself. Do you think it's possible? to be both a genius and a mad man?