Pencils, Dust, and Imperfection

I never noticed it before. I figured the trials I was going through indicated something; maybe past drug use or common sips of intoxicants. I figured my mentality or loss of sensibility could be justified by something self-inflicted, but I was wrong.

The blackouts terrified me the most. I didn't want to awake falling off of a bridge or on boat to no mans land. I wanted to remember each and every swing of the pendulum instead of forgetting hours of the days. Amnesia rotted my brain, and I was incapable from stopping it from doing so.

Next was the depression. I was lacking the feeling of pleasure, intimacy, and happiness. I first noticed this when I was on stage, playing a cricket stadium of 50,000, and felt nothing. I felt no exhilaration, excitement or joy. I was an empty shell from then on.

I'm not normal or self-controlled.

I was experiencing regular hardships that I had grown accustom to feeling. Headaches and body pains are completely normal - especially if you live the lifestyle I lead - and I've dealt with panic attacks and anxiety since I can remember.I never thought of those problems of normality to be symptoms of something worse.

The distortion of my perception and reality was causing me to question my level of sanity. My unjustified anger made me want to cry over the pain I caused, and the auditory hallucinations made me certain that I wasn't OK.

I lost what is left of my mind.

I didn't want anything I was doing taken lightly because everything felt so heavy to me. I couldn't carry the weight of this insanity so I let it corrupt me and eat away at my insides like a maggot to a corpse. I couldn't stop the devastation or the fictional decapitation that felt all too literal.

I walked down a one-way road to insanity, searching for a familiar path back to a state of mind.

I'm not sure if I found one or not.