The Garden That Once Was

I was expecting deep sharp pains. Maybe even some form of rage. Or possibly even some flavour of contempt. But it was nothing like that at all. All it was was like lying down with a plank on top of me as weights slowly piled on top of me one by one.

The beautiful thing about emotion is that it does not require any logical justification to exist. It simply does. But for a guy like that basically lives life as a series of logical conclusion, emotions are possibly the most agitating thing in the world to deal with.

Because when things are good it’s great. Everything would be wonderful and life goes on and everything is just peachy. But when things are bad, I would congratulate myself if I made through the day without committing any acts of self destruction. The things I could do is far too simple and far too accessible to make it easy to maintain self control. And for a moment, it would seem like a great idea to disappear, and then maybe, maybe, someone would notice.

But that’s never how it ever pans out. Because nobody notices something that disappears if that something behaves like it was never there to begin with. You wouldn’t notice a speck of dust on the top of a cupboard missing.

And the feeling it brings, and the feelings that are there, and the explosion of emotions that is barely being held is check thus far all stems from one simple unjustified emotional standpoint. That one irrational unexplainable mess of a state by brain has decided to be in. It is almost beautiful how absolutely terrifying it is.

Like the darkest of shadows and the brightest of lights, it forms itself as a contradiction existing simultaneously, almost mocking my rationality.

It breaths itself into my life, tracing every decision I make, every movement, every word spoken. It brings with it my wrath, my jealousy, my hate. It brings with it my despair and everything I held dear, everything I had ever tried to tame.

This is something I would have to concede is beyond my control. Despite my efforts to subdue it, I find myself being pushed back time and time again. There are parts of me that are extremely hard to kill. But for it to be fueled by something as powerful as hope, I find myself failing at every attempt to silence this thing.

I don’t want this hope. And I don’t want this feeling. And in all likelihood I am over thinking things. But being what I am, it seems inevitable that I would need to take drastic measures soon if I were to have any hope of keeping what’s left of my sanity.

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