the falsification of emotion is perhaps the most vexing of activities one might expect in the throes of a depression or a mania. i might be completely under control. completely. depression circles its wagons around me, yet i am light. the medicine for my sleep does not seem to be doing all that much, yet i am light on my feet.
i know where i’m at and what i’m doing. i have made it to the three day weekend, with a birthday bonus on sunday. i made it. i don’t have to exasperate myself in the effort for normality. i’m light on my feet, i’m bouncing. i’m tapping out the rhythm of life like i’m jumping rope, like i’m hittin the speed bag.
i know where i’m at and what’s going on. the language of the depressed is more so a tugging at the chest than at the mind, a gentle pulling on the heart strings as opposed to clear thought processes. those come with acceptance of the cleaving, of the digging behind the ribs.
i know. now, i know, gottammit i know where i’m at and what i’m doing. but i tell you, it’s like being lied to by your mother on christmas day. it’s just hard not to believe, you know? every base instinct is telling you that you are down, so fill in the details. depression doesn’t care what those details are, just grab things that might be, that could be, dark and horrible. take just an inkling and explode it into an all encompassing, all enveloping disease.
i know these inklings all too well. the blank canvasses handed down from the righteous dna that rules from behind the scenes. yet, i have looked behind the curtain. i have seen the wizard in all his supposed glory. these blank canvasses have small stains from the blood incurred when they were ripped from the truth. i can see them for what they are, the falsified, unjustified, simplified deities of fear.
i operate alongside these canvasses. it’s easier just to let them play out than it is to destroy them, necessarily. it’s a curious edge to walk upon. fearless in the face of falsification, i stand unconfused. yet, if you look closely, from time to time, you may see me wipe a tear from my eyes. it’s that close to the surface that i must keep it. i must bring it close to me in order to ignore it properly.
the scars inch along my body, burning their way into my life, every day. i fear not the needle of circumstance. i fear not these falsifications. most of all, i fear not disease. disease is just an illusion, a tiny wizard hiding behind giant stacks of, well, fear. the outcome is the tool. the end is the process.
emotion that leads down rabbit holes for the purpose of looping back around into more rabbit holes is nothing but falsified stories.
i fear not the false, if only because i keep it close enough to see through.