Resignation
I think it must be impossible to express, this feeling of "being".
Realizing I have been striving for this all along, as an artist and as a human being, I feel like I've merely realized the impossibility of the completion of my decided life's purpose.
However, I have also realized that being understood in parts and pieces, by individuals that I have let into the depths of my soul, may be possible. I have been shown by a loving and beautiful angel.
But there is still that...that blaring fear "what if I'm insane" is a constant call shuttling incessantly from the back to the foreground of my mind. I find it spilling over my lips before I speak of anything from within myself.
But the ideas and images flowing in an infinite river of thought, my subconscious and conscious minds melding increasingly indistinct from one another, are slowly making their way into the world. I have been trying for so long to stop them, then to perhaps slowly filter them. "I can not show the world my true self, because I am ashamed that I am insane." I don't want to live that way.
The insane, may merely be destined to an existence that defies this world completely.
I may merely be something like the antithesis of the outward and physical nature of this world... I may merely consist of thoughts and dreams with little or no physical substance defining my being.
People see this thing before them, what they perceive to be myself, but I profess to be something else. I also claim that they too, as those I love, could be something more like me, like an idea, something much less ephemeral than this world. They look at what appears to be myself, and their senses betray them to think "this is evidence that what she believes is not true, and to believe something so blatantly false with such ardor she must be insane". I feel that perhaps they think this way, so I have desperately hoped that they will still love me if I admit it, "Hahaha, don't mind me. I'm insane".
But there are times when I just can't pretend, and so I do not feel comfortable with the company that I distrust so much as to attempt to conceal my true feelings behind insanity. I sit alone in my vast imaginary mental world until I can not stand it. And when the loneliness of my tiny physical counterpart calls the happily free and creative me, I can not help but to abandon myself for a time and rush pathetically back to the world we must humanly perceive.
Now, I have found some sort of hope. It may be hypothetical at best, but there may be those whom I can touch with a greater part of myself. I have been shown by this bridge that has somehow formed from one heart to another. It may be fragile, but it shines brightly and illuminates that dreary distance...
I have lived censored so long, I fear it may be too late or too risky, but I want to try nonetheless. Through this body, I will attempt to express to few or many the truth inside and beyond my physical self. I will attempt to show them what I see and know, and run rampant in an artistic fervor... and I may touch some others like myself... before the world closes me up and seals me behind an impenetrable wall labeled "insane".
At that time I will hand in my resignation.
Knowing I have done all I could to breach the disconnect between myself, the me perceived, and this world, I could die insane, alone and at peace. And if I could know that I touched one person, even briefly, with the understanding of my true self and of their own similar soul... I can feel that I have, in some way, fulfilled my self-divined purpose.
Realizing I have been striving for this all along, as an artist and as a human being, I feel like I've merely realized the impossibility of the completion of my decided life's purpose.
However, I have also realized that being understood in parts and pieces, by individuals that I have let into the depths of my soul, may be possible. I have been shown by a loving and beautiful angel.
But there is still that...that blaring fear "what if I'm insane" is a constant call shuttling incessantly from the back to the foreground of my mind. I find it spilling over my lips before I speak of anything from within myself.
But the ideas and images flowing in an infinite river of thought, my subconscious and conscious minds melding increasingly indistinct from one another, are slowly making their way into the world. I have been trying for so long to stop them, then to perhaps slowly filter them. "I can not show the world my true self, because I am ashamed that I am insane." I don't want to live that way.
The insane, may merely be destined to an existence that defies this world completely.
I may merely be something like the antithesis of the outward and physical nature of this world... I may merely consist of thoughts and dreams with little or no physical substance defining my being.
People see this thing before them, what they perceive to be myself, but I profess to be something else. I also claim that they too, as those I love, could be something more like me, like an idea, something much less ephemeral than this world. They look at what appears to be myself, and their senses betray them to think "this is evidence that what she believes is not true, and to believe something so blatantly false with such ardor she must be insane". I feel that perhaps they think this way, so I have desperately hoped that they will still love me if I admit it, "Hahaha, don't mind me. I'm insane".
But there are times when I just can't pretend, and so I do not feel comfortable with the company that I distrust so much as to attempt to conceal my true feelings behind insanity. I sit alone in my vast imaginary mental world until I can not stand it. And when the loneliness of my tiny physical counterpart calls the happily free and creative me, I can not help but to abandon myself for a time and rush pathetically back to the world we must humanly perceive.
Now, I have found some sort of hope. It may be hypothetical at best, but there may be those whom I can touch with a greater part of myself. I have been shown by this bridge that has somehow formed from one heart to another. It may be fragile, but it shines brightly and illuminates that dreary distance...
I have lived censored so long, I fear it may be too late or too risky, but I want to try nonetheless. Through this body, I will attempt to express to few or many the truth inside and beyond my physical self. I will attempt to show them what I see and know, and run rampant in an artistic fervor... and I may touch some others like myself... before the world closes me up and seals me behind an impenetrable wall labeled "insane".
At that time I will hand in my resignation.
Knowing I have done all I could to breach the disconnect between myself, the me perceived, and this world, I could die insane, alone and at peace. And if I could know that I touched one person, even briefly, with the understanding of my true self and of their own similar soul... I can feel that I have, in some way, fulfilled my self-divined purpose.
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