i was told to take a dive and dance with the devil, to commingle with the dark again. to bleed out my pain and suffering and to have clarity.

i am a writer and i was told to tell a story,

what story do i tell?

what do i write about?

how it feels like the supposed goodies caused me to hallucinate and feel madness when in reality i might be sane? does it feel better without them or is it manageable because i’m living a part of my dream? is it okay because i have a purpose and i have a lot to do? but my head still won’t shut up, it’s disorganized, rowdy and they helped with that.

or do i tell the world about how everything feels so right? so perfect and true? how it feels like i have most of what i have dreamed of and the years i spent living in constant fear and anxiety were all for show? i knew i was always going to get here, i put in the work and i’m quite determined, to give it a stretch.

do i tell a story about how i hope i never have to find a home just for the night, i pray it never comes to that. i don’t have the capacity for it, i won’t make it. 

to say the truth, i’ve always looked and found a place to lay my head for a night, cradled and told i’m loved even if it’s just for then.

i do not want to adapt to that life because it’s all i’ve ever known and continue to know. but i won’t succumb, i won’t yield, i won’t accept my destiny and now the consequences are at my doorstep. i might make it, i just might. 

there weren’t specifications on what i should write about, on which section of insanity to touch. it doesn’t come to me all the time, it lingers in my thoughts, it’s suffocating a few times. 

do i tell the audience i did the forbidden to myself again? lesson learnt and discarded, the circle once again? they wouldn’t be surprised, they subscribed to watch a madman after all. i ask myself why i keep doing this to myself, never goes smoothly and i end up shutting down. i end up more anxious, sad, regretful, drained than i was without it but here i am again longing, willing, aching for something that can’t be true, can’t be real. maybe i am difficult after all, the devil herself did a real one with that.

maybe i should tell my audience about the disconnection with reality. my brain shuts off from time to time and on a normal day, she barely works. day to day schedules of breathing, walking, talking and functioning are barely fulfilled. she’s easily exhausted and shuts down, leaving me in the middle of nowhere. i can barely handle anything, i can barely be a person.

i should tell my audience how i am frail, a walking contradiction, a myriad of random information, complacent, unmotivated, considered a societal abomination, amongst others. how i do not care so much about anything anymore, how i barely have plans to sustain my life, how i look for ways to run, to escape and never return.

or do i talk about my secret? my hidden source of happiness, a place to rest when i no longer function right. the warmth, grace, love, sunshine, understanding. my hidden royalty, i left everything back home for this and how much love i carry that it pains me that none will ever know just how much i love my hidden royalty.

-toby

i was told to take a dive and dance with the devil, to commingle with the dark again. to bleed out my pain and suffering and to have clarity.

i am a writer and i was told to tell a story,

what story do i tell?

what do i write about?

how it feels like the supposed goodies caused me to hallucinate and feel madness when in reality i might be sane? does it feel better without them or is it manageable because i’m living a part of my dream? is it okay because i have a purpose and i have a lot to do? but my head still won’t shut up, it’s disorganized, rowdy and they helped with that.

or do i tell the world about how everything feels so right? so perfect and true? how it feels like i have most of what i have dreamed of and the years i spent living in constant fear and anxiety were all for show? i knew i was always going to get here, i put in the work and i’m quite determined, to give it a stretch.

do i tell a story about how i hope i never have to find a home just for the night, i pray it never comes to that. i don’t have the capacity for it, i won’t make it. 

to say the truth, i’ve always looked and found a place to lay my head for a night, cradled and told i’m loved even if it’s just for then.

i do not want to adapt to that life because it’s all i’ve ever known and continue to know. but i won’t succumb, i won’t yield, i won’t accept my destiny and now the consequences are at my doorstep. i might make it, i just might. 

there weren’t specifications on what i should write about, on which section of insanity to touch. it doesn’t come to me all the time, it lingers in my thoughts, it’s suffocating a few times. 

do i tell the audience i did the forbidden to myself again? lesson learnt and discarded, the circle once again? they wouldn’t be surprised, they subscribed to watch a madman after all. i ask myself why i keep doing this to myself, never goes smoothly and i end up shutting down. i end up more anxious, sad, regretful, drained than i was without it but here i am again longing, willing, aching for something that can’t be true, can’t be real. maybe i am difficult after all, the devil herself did a real one with that.

maybe i should tell my audience about the disconnection with reality. my brain shuts off from time to time and on a normal day, she barely works. day to day schedules of breathing, walking, talking and functioning are barely fulfilled. she’s easily exhausted and shuts down, leaving me in the middle of nowhere. i can barely handle anything, i can barely be a person.

i should tell my audience how i am frail, a walking contradiction, a myriad of random information, complacent, unmotivated, considered a societal abomination, amongst others. how i do not care so much about anything anymore, how i barely have plans to sustain my life, how i look for ways to run, to escape and never return.

or do i talk about my secret? my hidden source of happiness, a place to rest when i no longer function right. the warmth, grace, love, sunshine, understanding. my hidden royalty, i left everything back home for this and how much love i carry that it pains me that none will ever know just how much i love my hidden royalty.

-toby