Alas, I have deprived my soul long enough.
It is odd how we often thrust ourselves into the path of an oncoming bus not for the sheer thrill of dodging the experience of being shuffled loose the mortal coil but for the knowledge that we have survived and now possess the authority to speak first hand and warn others of the danger of placing our hearts, minds, and sometimes our principles on the line in the name of love .... or lust.
And on we go breathing deeply in the wake of sheer disappointment, fear, loathing. or relief. Coming up from the depths of depression and oppression only to breathe as one who has been held below the water's surface for far too long. And yet some of us still harbor a sense of guilt ... "Over what?" one may ask? I dunno, silly things I would suppose ... though not silly to the one experiencing it but to the casual observer who shakes his or her head in dismay that one would place his or herself in the situation to begin with. Some try to save the world ... others try to save one another.
And here we are. You have returned to see if I have posted further, and as you arrive I rise to the surface from the depths of a self-induced darkness and deprivation that is unhealthy even for the most Seasoned Masochist.
Not that I enjoy whips and chains, I think it is more of a perverted fascination with the effects of continuing to embrace my "syndrome mentality". Yet again, I have survived. I have dodged the train, stumbled across the tracks to land in seedy gravel only to momentarily curl defensively and lick my still-fresh wounds. No worries. I shall rise to stand full height once again and stronger than before. I reclaim my intent, my focus, and my dreams. I will get there ... and this experience only serves to reinforce the motivation I have silently cradled all along. No one shall hijack my destination. Not this, not anything that mere mortal man may place in front of me shall rob me of that.
I don't mean to speak in riddles or confusing allusions. Suffice to say that recent situations have reached their boiling point, boiled over, scalded my hands and forced me to drop the pot of sopping stew of negativity and discontent to the shining floor below. Momentary discoloration, a slight mess. Nothing a mop won't cure. I take responsibility, for it was I who dropped the pot.
What good would it do to hold tight to something that is not fit for consumption and cannot possibly be passed on to anyone as "good for you" with any degree honesty whatsoever? That is false advertisement, morally wrong, and demeaning. To further ingest this festering conglomeration of sour bits and pieces would only trigger additional "feel bads" and massive regurgitation. It is fine to initially try to add your own set of spices and herbs to make the gruel better ... maybe give it a more appealing flavor, aroma, and texture. But it is still gruel.
Ah, already I tire of such analogies. Until later ....