9 February 2013
A/N: This is a poetic description of my daily battle with ADHD.
Haven't I gotten it wrong?
My mind is so full of questions - jockeying for answers that only create more questions. If my mind is a bag, it's full of writhing snakes - will I one day run out of room?
* It has begun - the fight Within my mind's arena The writhing, twisting ideas Bulging at the seams They crawl down my throat to- Strangle my heart and throat In coils of confusion.
A suffocating poison fog Stabs though my veins.
* People can't understand - There's a boundary that ideas almost never cross - the ones into the body. But for me, it's nearly impossible to distinguish between the two. Unlike anyone I've ever met, my body is my mind, and my mind my body. Ideas don't spin around in my head, they crawl down my heart, burning down my arms and tormenting me until they're released through my fingertips into permanency. They stagnate in my throat, drain the feeling from my fingers, and keep me isolated from anything, everything. Where does my mind end and my body begin? Can I be crushed out of existence by ideas, or will the physicality of my mind keep me alive to feel the torment of being torn apart by the weight of my own imaginings...
*
Drowning, burning, falling There are weights on my hands and feet, dragging me under Burning liquids tear at my throat, Air in my chest - unable to - Where is light? What is dark? How can I move?
* I can't anymore. The bag of my mind has ripped, and the ideas own my body now. I can't choose to act, or choose not to act - all the conflicting ideas have glued to me to the ground. My instinct tells me to run, but where? My sense of responsibility holds me just enough to keep me from running - but it is
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My screams are trapped in my throat, by my own inability to choose -
* Where can I run? My feet beg to run, But my heart is heavy Leaden in my chest.
* It's a vicious cycle in my body, in my mind - which is which? Am I body, or am I mind? It doesn't matter, my body-mind has become a BInd blind bind bounded by boxed bondage... My own ideas are drowning me, my own mind is consuming me - or is it consuming itself?
* Sometimes I wake At midnight, afraid That I'm dropping Into a dark hole A void - And reality Is illusion
And illusion, reality.
* I lust for freedom. I've forgotten what daylight tastes like...
* Someone save me.
* I can't.
* Move.
* Wait.
* Anything.
* Screams echo off the walls of my prison Like the lonely howls of the midnight wolf The wolf who has lost everything Driven mad by the moonlight.
* Light.
IT BURNS! * I surrender all.
* My chains are gone, My heart set free My mind at peace Focused on Thee
Where can I run? You carry me. Where can I hide? You are my lee.
My thoughts are yours My mind your tree That you can bend And prune for thee.
* "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?... No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:35, 37-39
Cross to Bear • Opuss № I