The Ramblings of A Lunatic

Rant: 25

Pep Talk

Painful. Its the kind of sad that feels like a pressure exerted on your lungs making it hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to feel anything but this pain.

This pain. We've been frenemies since I was ten years old. This aching. This breaking. This re-fucking-making of all that I am, by stealing all that I have from me.

And I am to blame. I am to blame because Im the perpetrator, the instigator and the victim of my mind. It haunts me, you see. My sorrows, my beliefs.

And I could use a lot more assonance. To make a little bit more sense of all that's going on. Of all that's going wrong.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to be okay. I was raised for something better than this. But that future dimension may be closed forever.

I'm repeating my sins. Repeating my guilt. Reciting my anguish like the words to my favourite song. So won't you bystanders sing the fuck along with me.

I'm sick of being lonely.

I don't know where the downward spiral began, or when marching band that was supposed to cheer me on began playing dirges and-
When the chemicals from MCR changed from dopamine to cortisol.

I am just another story of wasted opportunity. A failed investment realized to be futile only right after it was already made. I didn't wanna disappoint you, ma.

Don't wanna die. Don't wanna cry. Anymore. But I'm just really far from sure of what normal feels like.

What does normal feel like?

Is this anger? Is this rage? Has that absent emotion finally made it to centre stage?
Thats good, I guess.

Means I'm healing. That I'm motherfucking done with feeling like I'll never be able to amount to anything regardless of what I can bring to the table.

I don't care to feed your appetite of greed for power and fame and breed your gam-ing of the situation of our existence anymore.

I know your definition of jewellery is now limited to a noose. I know the bracelets around your wrists mirror the discolouration on your thighs. But baby, you've got responsibilities.

You're accountable to your friends and to your family. To the passions you once swore you'd never leave. To you. 'Cause those promises matter too. You matter too. Even if only cause you have weight and mass and take up space.

Don't make my struggle of getting out bed this morning after a long night of wrestling my demons be in vain.

There's a freedom in death, but I got too much to do 'fore I go chasing it yet. I gotta be a better person to prove to other kids that think like me- wrong. I gotta prove to me that idealism stands a fighting chance. 

Our time to rise out of the shadows is here. We need only dare need to grab it and cling with the skin of our teeth. Cling to our outdated belief that one person can make a difference. That the struggle that is life can be meaningful if we only provide some relief to those in ruts worse than ours. If we spend our time aware that the ticking minutes and hours will take us to the horizon on their own. That we just gotta stay busy. We just gotta stay good people. We gotta keep it a lot more fucking real.

Painful. My wounds are sore but healing; and I think I'm finally believing that the end of this cesspit is here. That I have little left to fear.

I step off the ledge of the edge of my mind. Instead of falling, this time, I fly...