Inside the Brains behind the Suit

[fancysuitbanana]

I was Happy

I had a dream I was happy.

 But I woke up.

 The grayness of reality faded onto me; a slow, thick fog covering me and shattering my fragile being into pieces so small I couldn’t pick them up. I stared down at who I used to be in objectivity, wondering how all that was left used to be me; used to be human. My feet fell further and further away from me as the ground disappeared. The world fell silent.

 I was standing in a circle with friends. I was holding your arm. I was safe. I was happy.

 But I woke up the way I used to from nightmares - achingly slow, as if my mind were giving me the opportunity to realize how far away from the truth my dreams had been.

 Everything was in slow motion and I was doubling over in laughter, the smile on my face and my sides aching as evidence of my joy. I was so happy.

 But I woke up and felt the rare ache of wanting to feel something, anything, so I sought after the only ingredients of life worth having, which I could hardly recognize any longer. I found others’ tales of shattering silence, and the familiarity of their despair struck so deep I could feel it in my fingertips, in my toes, reaching through me as if to grasp onto something, but there was nothing left to hold onto.

 I had a dream I was happy. Pure contentment ran though my body, healing my wounds, if even for just a few moments.

 But I woke up to find the person I was, just second ago wasn’t real. She was a fiction I had worked so hard to become, and she fell through my fingers along with the rest of me in the exposing morning light, bleaching out the last remnant of myself I still had; the literal and figurative dreams of one day being happy dissolving right before me. I felt every ounce of my being die that morning.

 I had a dream I was happy.

 But then I woke up.

[themotivationjournals]

“I guess I’m a little weird. I like to talk to trees and animals. That’s okay though; I have more fun than most people.”

— Bob Ross (via wnq-art)

[fancysuitbanana]

Tunnel Vision

Tunnel Vision

Life is a road and I’m a car.

Some people drive along a highway, taking the most efficient route to where they’d like to go. Others have to stop along the way to get gas or to make repairs. Some people take windy, but beautiful paths, and others drive back and forth to the same places. Some people’s cars break down, and the best friends you have are the ones willing to help you work on yours.

I’m driving along taking the twists and turns, enjoying some and not enjoying others. I see different scenery, but I tend to overlook the beauty that I see often, taking it for granted.

I get stuck in traffic. I get mad at the people gawking at accidents, and I applaud those who stop to help others.

My car works. I do what I can to keep it running; maintenance, gas, the usual, but the road changes sometimes.

Sometimes the road is gravel, making the insides jostle around. Sometimes I drive over bridges. Sometimes I get lost.

Sometimes I find myself in tunnels, the kind where you have to hold your breath, even if you don’t want to. Sometimes I blink and there it is. I don’t really know how I got there, but I realize all of a sudden that the road is darker than I remember it being. Sometimes the darkness hits me like a brick wall, enveloping me in it before I even knew it was coming. I always try to turn around to avoid it, but sometimes I can’t.

Sometimes it takes hours to get through the tunnel, sometimes it takes months. Some times I turn around in time, sometimes I don’t.

Not all tunnels have lights, so I have to use my own. But sometimes the tunnels are so dark that I can’t see the road. People tell me to just turn on your lights, but I can’t remember where my lights are, or how to turn them on. No matter how many tunnels I’ve been in, it’s still hard to see in the dark.

I could call someone who has been in my car before and ask them to help me find my lights. But I worry it’s a crazy question. Who doesn’t know where their own lights are? Even if they tried to help, I still have to find them on my own.

I know there’s an outside, but I don’t know how to get there. I don’t know how long it will take to get out. I know there are signs that will help me find my way out, but I can’t see them in the darkness.

Whenever I find my way out of a tunnel, I feel proud, and I appreciate all of the scenery that I wasn’t able to enjoy in the tunnel. I even appreciate the traffic, because at least I can see it. But there’s always a present fear that I’ll turn a corner and end up back in a tunnel. I panic when I turn blind corners. I’m constantly checking to see if the road seems darker than it used to, in hopes that I’ll be able to turn around while I still can. But no matter how vigilant I am, sometimes it’s just too late.