Do you ever feel like there is way too much stuff in your head? As though a war wages on within the confines of your mind. Soon enough it all starts to explode and become a solid white noise of nothingness. People ask me why I'm sad, but the truth is... I don't feel anything. It's hard to explain, and strange to say, but it is as though I am just a blank canvas. But, at any given moment, that blank canvas is splashed with the red of anger, the fury of war, the bitter irritation. Unleashing this on people doesn't make me feel better, in fact it makes me feel even worse, the red becoming a deep crimson. The white noise, a beating of war drums. As quickly as of comes it recedes back within dark pits of my mind. Again, I am a blank canvas, just waiting to be painted upon. What will it be next? The deep blue of misery? A confused purple, a constant barrage of questions and conflicting answers. A suicidal black? Without life there is no white noise. Perhaps the troubling greys of anxiety get the better of me, then the only safe place is the one place I'd rather never go... My own head. Hiding among the battlefield. Then suddenly, the canvas is overcome with bright colours and light. What is this happiness? Such a strange feeling, true happiness, is it achievable? Or is this simply a sugar rush? Perhaps, I will never know. I bask in the light, but how long will it last this time? How long until the bright colours are soiled by shades much darker? Why? Why must my mind torment me so? What is wrong with me? I typed this in the car earlier so there is a high chance of errors, I apologise for that. You could say this was an experiment. This is one of the first times I have written with my own feelings taking control. Normally, I ignore myself and envelope myself in a characters life. But not this time...
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