I don’t know what this is, this damn feeling of distraught. But then again, it can easily be camouflaged as a convoluted sense of fear and pain. It’s demanding to be felt, not wavering till it’s gotten the attention it deserves. I need to talk to someone, no sorry, I need to talk WITH someone. He once mentioned my being really layered up. Like a chateau within a chateau. Walls built on top of walls. But, in as much as he knew that part of me all too well, he still lacked the in-depth cognizance to who I really was. Ne’er been known to wear my emotions on the inside out like every normal human, cause damn how weak, open and gutted would that leave me. So, here I am aching in deep despair. Seeking nothing more than that single person to vent to, be completely naked with. That human to drip both ourselves off our deepest secrets. But no, I’ve spent hours, days and most if not all my years shutting out every warm blooded being within a close-proximity, who wanted to strip themselves naked with me psychologically. And now, my bottled-up emotions have bordered on psychosis. So, I’m guessing this is where I part with sanity and embrace the emptiness and silenced voices in my head. Though, I don’t know what’s more daunting, feeling the existence of the voices inside your head or it’s tranquility.
It’s been a minute from the time I had written this. Well, my minute is a thinned-out disguise for a decade. Re-reading this note leaves me with a bitter taste in my feels. It’s a vivid and lucid memory from when I’d finally given in to my demons. Five years in a loony bin can do that to a person! I had lost everything, and I was in dire need to give vent to my mortally despairing emotions. I kept it all this while, the note. Sadly, I couldn’t keep my sanity. My strength, my impassioned physicality, that fiery spirit that defined me got sucked into abyss.
I’m overwhelmed by all sorts of emotions. But at the same time, can’t help but be so stoic to it all. All pun intended I couldn’t choose a better moment to be more of a walking paradox than now. And here I was, believing myself to be a psychotic mess just as much as my sexist and domineering husband had deemed me to be. Confining me to a mental asylum against my better judgement. I went to Rome and did what the fucking Romans do! Became a psycho. If I wasn’t deranged then, I sure as hell have charged my crazy now.