The boys mind tosses and turns
like a bipolar insomniac in the middle of the night
he can’t decide.
He can’t make the decision, any decision
that may aid in solidifying a personal persona
Is he this, is he that?
Is he nothing?
Where does he want to stay
who does he want to be? And why
does he feel like his mind is a totally separate person from who he is?
His identity is in the wind,
guided by a consistently random forecast.
Some days his mind is tossed, twisted in tornadoes
others, it rests peacefully at the top of a maple tree, able to see all
He’s lost, then found
Paint either squirts upon the canvas
or is gently brushed
And no matter the picture
The next day is a blank canvas
Lost, floating in an infinite space
full of nameless doors
he is deathly determined
to find the door
revealing who he truly is.
So I thought this would be interesting.
For the past 5 years, I’ve used the same journal. Since I started blogging my entries in it became less and less frequent. But I flipped back to the beginning (this would be a period following my last stay at a psychiatric hospital) and found it extremely interesting, reflecting on my mental state from that time.
If you don’t keep a journal, I’d highly recommend it. It’s a good way to stay organized, productive, and it’s the strangest thing to have this window, always offering a glimpse into your state of mind. The entries are kind of like bookmarks.
I intend to post more, just because my writing from back then is so… weird, and the entries kind of tell a little story.
Till next time,