Autumn is such an amazing season. Driving towards the Esplanade, the roads were paved with gold, swirling after the wheels of passing cars. Trees were shedding tears, as if mourning the passing of summer, their naked branches reaching high up into the grey sky in an apparent gesture of supplication.
I left the car at the pool, and ran my usual out-and-back route, amidst the orange and red explosions of colour, my strides crunching the crisp dry leaves. Such breathtaking beauty everywhere. To be surrounded by such grand beauty it physically hurt me, knowing that I am alive, so full of flaws. What do I have to offer this world? How much do I suck dry with each breath I draw? How much do I taint the world by each breath I expel?
So hard to comprehend a world so filled with miracles when my own mind betrays me. So hard to understand that an artist and creator so skilled in sculpting these physical landscapes and design such ingenious cycles of varying seasons, would also create such twisted manifestations of psychosis and delusion in my brain.
I cannot help but feel cheated somehow, and then guilt ridden by the betrayal of my own mind…. and soul. What right do I have to question a gift, even if I never wanted it in the first place, never asked for it?
Walking a thin line every day, it doesn’t take much to fall on either side. I’m tired of the games they play. I’m tired of being shattered, of being mangled, of being salvaged. Every time I emerge from these episodes the internal world takes on a darker tinge against the contrast of a more brilliant one in which everyone else exists. I’m a foreigner in my own world. Stranger in my own strange land.
Sometimes even sanity is only an illusion.