Embedded in my intricate mind; elusive, misconstrued.
I have always tried to understand it,
it is relentless, harrowing.
Every day it protrudes from that vast place
And manages to pilfer what self-respect, control and discipline I have left.
But even more terrifying is when it vanishes and I become me again;
despondent, dejected, desperate.
Only then do I desire the feeling of a feeling.
Any feeling;
for the feeling of desolation is one less than grief and sorrow.
But alas, when it emerges; enveloping and eclipsing my soul;
I feel a rush of apprehension.
For who knows what I am capable of in this perturbed state?
I am torn, trepidatious.
I long to recover and yet I long to suffer.
After all, my mind assures me I deserve it.
My trembling, fragile skin consolidates me in some ways
but in other ways it erodes any memory of the person I used to be.
Every thought, every feeling, every second; it consumes me.
Yet, when there is a brief flash of normality, of hope;
I ponder.
Do I want to be consumed, dominated; by something I can’t fully comprehend?
I am ambivalent; it has made me who I am yet someone I despise.
My thoughts contradict one another; I need a conception.
As I peer at my reflection, my mind racing;
I see the briefest glimmer of fulfilment;
I am extant!
However fleetingly, however indeterminate;
I am here.