As a writer, actually as a human being, we all have to put pen to paper sometimes, in order to deal with things we cannot fully grasp, to escape these ripping memories or question that tear at our insides. We vomit up vocabulary, strung together in some sort of poetic verse and hope to make sense of it later but mostly expel it from our hearts so that we may find a sliver of peace, so that we may survive the day’s menial tasks without shattering into pieces in what others could perceive as random insanity: a meltdown.
In the middle of the night, I am haunted by infinite questions. My mind wakes me from sleep to relive my past and analyze my decisions. Decisions that I now realize were bad or maybe more insignificant than I felt before. My mind wonders to how I am perceived, and as I question who I am, I am simultaneously driven to the brink of chaos worried over how others understand me… MISunderstand me. I question my seemingly reasonless cruelty and how, though it happens less often, why I purge these judgmental snippets of evil onto people I love, why I repeatedly hurt my friends with insults that I cannot stop and why they put up with it.
I am enraged at the multiple facets of my personality that confound my everyday and make me hesitant. And I am reminded of all those times I tried and the pain that shredded through me as I failed once again… In this darkness that I live in for hours at a time, those screaming silences before the sun rises, I am a total stranger and more myself than at any other time. I can embrace the doubt and the lack of self knowledge that ultimately lead to new self discovery. These sessions of pain and, on rare occasions, fantastic joys are a pathway to truth for me. They show me that I have changed but am still the same basic being deep inside.