Lately I have found myself in a dark void of not being able to express myself. I get frustrated and distant and i just want to push away. I want to use a wall to give myself a force to just push off in another direction but as I let myself go, I crash into another wall, and make no progress. I have ideas but when I share they are just ridiculed and ignored. And I found myself making a contemplation that I know will only bury me more than I am already. I'm already suffocating and instead of gasping for air I'm holding myself down, face first under water, and the bubbles are slowing down.
I haven't been able to write anything decent in weeks. Been coughing and losing my voice. Been avoiding the foods that make me sick and yet my skin still feels like its on fire. I lay in bed looking at my ceiling, looking for cracks and imperfections. Daymares have become common when i take naps, and at night my dreams are either empty voids or vivid twisted images of places I've never seen in person, but the familiarity leaves me awake with curiosity and fear. I've been reading so many books, and been listening to so much music, but I feel like I've lost all inspiration.
Until tonight.
I felt the wind in my hair, as I pedaled through the streets by my home. My first night, trying something new. I knew what awaited me at home, the anger and disappointment, but for that brief moment I just pushed that voice to the side. I felt it build up as my anxiety reach its ultimate point, my inner voice yelling to stop, and slow down, but I couldn't listen. As the cars passed my side, I kept going pedaling and pedaling. Coasting down to the empty streets where I can claim it as my own, not having to share with no other vehicles. I wanted to feel something, even if it was just my heart racing in my chest. And as I turned into my block, I felt a smirk force its way onto my face and I genuinely felt free...
and was able to write this tonight.
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