We should have been a little madder. I thought I was mad enough. But maybe in my
search of madness, I’ve drawn walls so high, my madness has become an illusion
of security. What I really wanted was on
the other side. Not to have the strength
of an independent rebel but the fragility of a child who wants to be part of
others and for others to be part of.
Such madness I’ve built that I have been blinded and celebrated it as
uniqueness, a feat that only a brave lone soul could victoriously enjoy. Imprisoned by this concrete castle of
madness, I’ve disabled judgment and criticism or even when they come, they
should bounce off nonchalantly because they didn’t matter to me. I am not the criticism of others and I have
no ears for that. I was drowning in my
own mirage of perfection. No wonder
success evades me for I have not known how to turn love into blessing, the art
of getting rid of bitterness. Happiness
is the absence of bitterness. How could
someone who has everything and owns anything the heart desires, surrounded with
beautiful people, still fall into depression?
They call it low-level serotonin but in fact it was a poison more
venomous than all venoms, more toxic than all toxins, so unassumingly named
Bitterness. A destroyer of passions, an
anesthetic of feelings, a murderer of dreams.
Bitterness has caused my fear of failure deeply underestimated as I
continue to spiral into a frenzy of indecisiveness and confusion. I was so afraid of goodness and light, afraid
they will deject me when I finally make friends with them. I would not allow myself to a sliver of possibility
that my old wound from years of abandonment could be cut open. I’d rather bleed profusely and go to bed,
unawake forever. This fear which gripped
me so greatly that when I let love in, I disarmed it in case it crumbles my
wall and throws off my routine. As such
I began to understand that excessive fear is an imbalance, I’ve been hoodwinked
into believing in my nonexistent equilibrium.
I’ve been against the law of natural change for the longest time and my
soul is desperate to be set free. My eyes
opened, my hands agitated to deconstruct this illusive dark palace that I’ve
named Dignity which such pride, in there I sought not comfort but solace for so
many years. I am tired now. And I’m ready to leave and live. Madness is not lost of control. To control is madness.
Paulo Coelho is a genius, nothing short of artful brilliance. Buy.
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