Facing Anxiety

I have been tumbling down into darkness for a some time. Not days or weeks or months but for many years. When i first tumbled. I never wanted to accept it. I thought i could outsmart my feelings. Along that route, there came a time where i found myself gasping for air, unable to breath, doubting the entirety of my existance. But even then, despite every inch of my soul rejecting this madness, i just couldn't accept that this was happening.

I would try to outsmart it by distorting it in a book. By breaking the world in front of me into small pieces of "realities". a simple task like walking down the street would became about me jumping between realities. Endless and agonizing. And yet i still didn't yield. My reluctance to accept the truth found its way to surrendering to a delusional cause.

And when the time came of acceptance of truth, i had strayed to far to recoganize myself. Thus i planned my escape from who i had become. Endlessly i walked, searching for something of which i had no clue. Some told me to never think, some told me to just pretend..... That was me many years ago. That was a time i stumbled steep in the darkness.

Many years later, that is me in the present. Writing for myself. All i do is think,

"what is truth and what is good?

How can i get to the place where i should? "

Up until today i went along that tune, the identity, the idea i created for myself.

But something happened today that has prompted me to share.

I began to notice something inside that i have been hiding from myself for quite a while . The madness in me and its limitation, which i have reached. The madness being the need to perfectly make sense, the perfect world of truth and wonder. And limition being myself. Let me explain.

In all those years of being nothing and drowning in a sea of uncertainity. I had been so deprieved of this idea of having a self that i would jump aboard any ship that passed nearby. I was the embodyment of the thought that whizzed pass by. So many identies in one life- a friend, an enemy, a preacher, a liar, a worker, an architect, a devil etc. Too stupid to have made sense of it back then. Only experience is what i can tell. "Togeather they never worked, And alone they would never last! "

Only path through was the path of truth. Truth of existance, truth of life. things that would always be. A sort of mould that would never break, one in which i could freely stay. And thats what brought me to the habit of writing. Thinking what is true? is there a true world that i don't see? How do i get there? the motivation to always seek.

It is only recently i am flung into doubt over reaching where i want to be. I cannot make sense of this disruption. Out of nowhere it has entered my seemingly happy life, blemishing that which i sought hard to create. The experience went something like this-

"Impatience began to rise, and writing in the book turned into this task executed with the bashfulness of a madman. I became Forceful and disrespectful of the truth, something i never thought i would ever do. I felt unable to see and realize what was happening to me and what i was doing,"

What can this be?

Only thing i can reason is that something within want me to loosen my grip of this created identity. i.e The man with the book, searching for truth. It wants me to accept and confront the real anxiety.

No longer do i think it was about good over evil but rather of choosing truth over everything else. Hope this feeling is right!