My disheveled existence

My silence is desperate, and if you listen closely you can almost hear its plea.  Boulders of heavy emotions hold me down so I can feel nothing but the emerging depression, my stomach tightens its knots.  I instinctively know it always gets better, and then worse again, and better still.  Normally I know the triggers, I can see it coming, but this time I was blindsided and my pride tells me "hurt every motherfucker in front of you."  It wasn't all that long ago I would act before I could really think, only now do I have enough self awareness to prevent myself from doing something stupid.  I'd like to think I played some part in my calming down, though I often wonder if it's simply a byproduct of growing up.  Most kids don't have the capacity to see how their actions directly affect them, and I sometimes feel like that kid still, inside.  The raw emotion that flourishes when adrenaline hits and the anger kicks in is almost like a sickness.  It slips in a backdoor and when you finally notice it's already too late, the damage is done.

So when you see me questioning everything about me and analyzing the fuck out of all that exists, know this: I do it because I have to.  The instant I let my guard down disaster crashes in and mayhem ensues.  I admit, I like a little chaos, but it's usually going on around me, not always in me.  In a strange way it makes me feel at home, comfortable, like an old friend I used to get drunk with.  It's ok to visit but I wouldn't want to stay too long, my inebriated brain might get stuck.

I play with fire and flirt with the boundaries most people shy away from.  It's in my nature to do things that are a little bit crazy, for if I don't I forget I'm alive, and I end up in a mundane existence. Half of the time I wind up regretting it, but even if I regret it I appreciate what it offers back in return which is some semblance of learning.  How much in life do we do without even knowing it?  My free flowing style of living leaves me brimming with experiences of every kind.  If I was only full of good and successful intentions my writing would be boring and untruthful.  

And all of this, it makes me a deviant philosophical heathen.  You've been warned.