Lately I cannot seem to put into words the insanity, the crazy that enraptures my mind. Like a stream flowing nowhere, currents twist and turn, churning thoughts into gibberish. Synapses that once effectively carried impulses to their logical destination. Now these pathways are full of holes, randomly sending pieces of my life spiralling into the abyss. This is the disconnect that I have feared the most; it is happening and I cannot fathom stopping it.
When the body shuts down, I have always pondered the extenuating circumstances that could have contributed to the decline. In my own case, I wonder what dreadful experience or trauma triggered my emotional lapse. Witnessing first hand a rapid physical descent, I know that the body followed the mind, aimlessly led astray by unknown demons. I live in a dream, a perilous and infinite labyrinth that desecrates the goodness of life. How does it end?
Rebuilding is easier said than done. Once your body has washed up on the shore, broken, battered and alone, it is difficult to imagine constructing a new home. Forgetting the tools you once used, the passions you once enjoyed, it becomes taxing to contemplate moving, much less actually doing so. There are options that seem easier, pathways that require no thought or emotion. These, however, should not, cannot, are not viable solutions. I wait.
