Following a dream I had three years ago....

         

   I find it difficult to start writing, the words don't flow like water but instead flow like mud. I can get stuck in my own brain, I can be delusional, my own brain filled with promises and betrayals that don't exist. I have been gripped with acute illness for most of my life, and it's developed into delusions that grip me and turn me into mush. I have driven myself insane with the possibilities of abandonment and failure.  I hold them close to my chest until they spill out of me, at that point it's no longer a delusion it becomes a sicking worry. I convince myself of things that are undeniably false, however I still worry about things that play the part of falsity. I'm a neurotic nutcase with worries in every suitcase.

                            I've never been good at controlling my worries, I find myself becoming yet another performer on a stage set with pins and needles once again. I play the part of a fool with the inclination of insanity, in the end, drowned in a sea of delusions. Feeling free from my own self is a fleeting dream that wraps me in it's arms, I need it like I need air. I find myself unbearable, I don't understand how he finds my insanity normal. My worries are just something to brush off, I am not a beast made of rotten ideas, for once I feel close enough to the stars. Like nothing will hurt me. Maybe I am crazy, I've been told that I shouldn't count on one person to love me until I die, but I can't help but place my heart in a guillotine. All I care about is that this moment is unforgettable and I will follow him until I am engulfed by earth. 

    I feel unjustified to worry about him, though my fear is crippling. How can one bear to loose the love of their life? I think I'd be institutionalized if I did. My heart is no longer mine, it hasn't been for months. But I worry that I set my table too quickly and the food will never arrive. However, I will put my trust tied into a bow into his hands and gladly let him take me away. I can be so stupid and far too worried.

 

“I am a very boring and unpleasant man, drowned in literature... But I love you.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera