Driftwood in white water...

Like the walls of a dam that are developing cracks from the extraordinary pressure of water trying to bore through , I find myself straining to keep my mind and wits from collapsing. The intense urge to express all that is bottled up , the frustrating , pent-up emotion and thoughts is enormous. These thoughts that churn in my soul, going round and round, turn into poison with every passing second and make me feel as though I will suffocate and die . These thoughts consume most of my waking moments .

And yet when I put pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard , I just choke up and nothing constructive emerges from the misery.So I have had no vent. And the poison kept accumalating.

The cause of desolation is, as always ,manifold. In my case,it is seemingly insignificant . What I mean is , it pales in comparison to the myriad trials that so many people must endure . The feeling of being on the verge of being defeated is so revolting and yet it is something I cannot seem to help. Like free falling from the top of a high cliff. Enough time to think , Enough time to realise that you are just going down and there is nothing whatsoever that you can do to change it. Worse still is the realisation that these 'trivialities' are capable of wrecking havoc on my life and that scares me more than anything else.

The sinking , sinking feeling. Like you are caught in a vortex , sucked towards the centre , unable to escape the mighty power that has dug its claws deep into your being and is pulling you deeper and deeper into the abyss.

I hate it that I can be melodramatic. I hate it that I am fully aware that I am wallowing in the depths of self-pity . I hate it that I am completely not in control of my life and destiny.I hate it that I am starting to make other people around me miserable.

What gives me comfort is that I am in familiar territory. I have been here once before. And I have managed to extricate myself. So, I languish , while anticipating the tide to ebb and me to ride home the wave .

And so, I'm the log of driftwood that is tossed by the river's current and is temporarily at it's mercy ,in the throes of it's turbulence. (Ironic..Always wanted to go white water rafting) .The log never sinks despite being submerged on several occasions and it is in that hope, of emerging ,tried but alive , that I even consider waking up every morning.

Therefore, I allow myself to smile and pretend to the world because ,sure , everything is not perfect and I want to just sleep in most days and not see anyone and read depressing poetry in a room with the blinds drawn all day and all that.

And sure, for now my laugh is fake , but soon the sun will shine , the turbulence will pass , I will want to get up , and read happy , mushy poetry again , and I will discard my sombre mask and my eyes shall yet smile.