This picture is the closest I have come to somewhat accurately portraying the home I dream about. I have seen this place with its purple sky and twin suns since I was a very small child. Of course if I tell anyone about this, they assume I either have an overactive imagination or that I am some sort of crazy. I've had the crazy label thrown at me quite a bit, for a whole multitude of reasons. It hurts because it seems as if my reality is invalid. It reminds me that for some reason, I was born not of this place. It is doubly sad and painful that simple differences in physical appearance make me a less valid human being. There are days where I don't feel human at all and this only serves to drive home the message that I am different.
I've been told by a few people that I really do seem to have a good grip on reality. That I seem to exist in peace while chaos is all around me. It must be at least partially true but sometimes I think it is just a mask I have built around myself. Sadness clutches my heart like a vice and I often feel like crying. I don't because what would be the point? I feel like to cry would be allowing weakness to seep in and upset the people I care about. My strength and resolve is helpful to them. I wouldn't ever tell them how close I am to snapping in half.
I guess the problem with being so self reliant emotionally is that reaching out is difficult. I don't even know how to convey the absolute chaos inside my head, especially now that external entropy seems to be the normal right now. So many people are dealing with reality, there's little time for contemplation of the internal struggle. I don't have a choice, however. No matter what is going on outside of myself, I am still stuck neck deep in the mire and muck of my own thoughts. I've never been able to escape this, even though I have certainly tried. Not even in the embrace of eternal sleep have I been able to truly get away.
I have "died" a few times. Some due to actions of my own hand, some due to unforeseen circumstances. Regardless of why, I was always told that I had to go back. That my mortal existence on this plane means something. What that is, I cannot say. I have danced through the tangle of life and death, of immortality and mortality and I realize that all I want is to simply go home. I do wonder if some of my thoughts are just simply seeing greener grass on the other side. Is home all that wonderful compared to what I experience now or am I just waxing nostalgic for something that I can't entirely remember?
I am of this life and it is of me. I am intertwined in the reality of others and while I could just disappear, that wouldn't be very nice. I am driven to keep doing, whatever the fuck that might mean. I can't idle or else the darkness will swallow me whole. I can't medicate myself into oblivion even though I really want to. Consciousness and awareness are sometimes way too much for me to handle. And yet I keep enduring it. I have no fucking idea why as the reward isn't obvious. There are some schools of thought that say the reward is simply to exist. Maybe that's my motivation.
I put up a really convincing narrative that I have it all figured out. Truth of the matter is I really have no idea what I'm doing.
