The familiar forgotten feelings mark a blue moon return. A knot in my mind that I thought had unravelled reveals its survival, as it resurrects. An ugly moon hidden by the clouds.
I know no other way to talk about it other than talking about it as if it is something other than what it actually is, 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺.
Adapting the route of knowing my emotions through metaphors, similes, contemplation and language had given me the hope to befriend them in all their dimensions. But the realisation strikes like judgement day, my illness will always know me better than I know myself. This sentence feels written by the previous version of me. The finality of the feeling in it, a death sentence.
Although all I have been writing lately is that beginning and the end is a loop. This marks the return of the beginning. This marks the return of my truth. Does this loop have an exit?
I think it does. It is to hold on to all the hard work I have carried out to nurture my solitude rather than give it back its past name of loneliness. This lover’s quarrel needs to pause here because I invent my own story.
All talk and no action will confirm all my suspicions that I am an imposter, a dissembler, a fraud. Rather than finding an exit to a circle at the same plane, I forget ascension exists.
So, now is the time to let go of all the tension, my body and my mind re-remembered. Now is the time to recognise and accept the present for what it is, temporary and transient like all things in life. Anxiety impels me to believe in a reality where everything is immersive and large like living an incessant nightmare but I need to remind myself the nightmare will only end when I wake up.
𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱.
Painting by Joshua Flint