The walls of my mind close in on me. The limits I have worked to push out, and the expansion I have chosen to experience, snap back against me. I watch myself crumble under the weight of my perceived reality once again. Frustrated for being here, again. Angry for not feeling strong enough to hold my ground, again. Fucking raging for the injustice underlying the circumstances I simply can’t seem to get myself out of, again.
Fuck you, I say to them. Fuck you for taking. Fuck you for not giving a shit about anything but yourself. Fuck you for doing your job. Fuck you for being. Fuck you.
And my projections of these feelings, outward, only circle back to me. They always do. What have I done to encourage this? What haven’t I done to prevent this? What am I supposed to do now? How did I get here, again?
I freeze. I cry. I try to console and care for them while I only want to run the fuck away. Away from them. Away from myself. Away from this fucking world that makes no fucking sense. It’s a fucking ridiculous reality. This stupid dumb fuck reality.
I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of this shit. I want to scream at the sky and command it to do something to change the landscape of this fuckhole reality forever. I want to die to this world.
A sense of responsibility, of obligation, of purpose keeps me here. It, like most things, makes no sense. It’s a purpose, as sense of meaning, a sense of being a part of something that is greater than myself. Sometimes I yearn for that. Because sometimes I feel meaningless. I feel empty and worthless. A vessel to be filled with value and riches. And sometimes I fucking hate it. Because sometimes I see quite clearly that the only thing that keeps me here, that keeps me anywhere, is my choice. And the responsibility of that power feels too great to hold.
So the walls of my mind close in on me. The walls that have been built on the beliefs that I am not enough. I am not strong enough to handle this. I am not worthy of the gift of life. I am not. I am not. I am nothing. And as that thought enters the foreground, I instantly recognize its untruth. I am in fact no thing. I am also not nothing. I am something. I am something very much alive and real. Otherwise there would be nothing to close in. Nothing to trap. Nothing to expand. Nothing.
Without me there are no walls. Without me there are no false beliefs. Without me there is no rage, no anger, no sadness. Without me there is no purpose. Without me there is nothing.
The walls of my mind close in on me. I take a deep breath. Feel the ground beneath me feet. Feel the stars above my head. I imagine they fill me, and I recognize they already have. For now, that is enough to crumble the flimsy walls of my mind.