The solitude of my life is often disturbed, by the uneasiness of the night. I sit here now at five in the morning half trembling, half hot; from the fear and discomfort I feel. While I so wish I could cast aside these emotions, the fact that they are here gives some resolution. That my life is both blessed and cursed by this affliction.
I don’t mean to sound so melodramatic, but the artist in me searches for some deeper meaning. When in fact it’s probably no more than a trick or imbalance of the brain and nothing more. The silence in which I live only increases the torment of my soul. The mask I wear so well has a veneer that has worn with age.
The darts I once cast aside so easily now pierce the skin cleanly. I don’t mean to make excuses for my trouble. We are taught from an early age to dry our eyes and “man up”. But those words ring hollow to a troubled soul in need of relief. Troubles come and troubles go, but the steady pulse of mental affliction isn’t often ignored. So we walk the streets by the millions, often unseen, often unknown.