Occasionally, there are periods of light.
Although few and far between, I am in the awful habit of allowing myself to believe otherwise.
That perhaps, this time, the blissful joy might remain.
I let down my guard and grow into a comfort zone.
I find some pleasure in the concepts of hope, faith, the tools of the foolish.
I become meticulous, pedantic, obsessive in my routine.
Convincing myself that if I follow the same course and repeat the exact pattern that I will find the same happiness in the same place over and over and over again.
But I never do, and the inevitable darkness always follows.
I can always feel it’s approach; I am well versed in my body’s alarm system for self-destruction.
The dreams come first. Restless sleep punctured by odd and anxious scenarios playing out on repeat.
And then there’s the anger. I find myself quick tempered and maniacal; always on the edge of some unforeseen cliff.
Finally, the thoughts.
Like a storm cloud that descends on my mind, shackling, torturing, oppressing, restraining.
I feel consumed by it, let it take over.
There is no escaping the paranoia, the anxiety.
The nail biting fear and gut-wrenching agony.
The mind-boggling pain and seemingly endless torment.
Craving death as a Hail Mary, any form of release. It is a vicious cycle of ups and downs from which there is no escape.
You can’t run from your demons if they’re all in your head.