Stateless

A Little Bit of Mature Magic

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I believe that, in the process of maturing, there are hard truths that have always been lingering. Truths that are hard, not in the efforts of finding them, but because, even when found, we are reluctant to accept them. It’s these truths, when accepted, that are accompanied by a particular sort of melancholy. A melancholy as if magic and mysticism promised in our younger days fade away. We ask ourselves if maturing is inevitable, if losing the magic and mysticism of our younger days is irreversible, or if hard truths are refutable. Are we lost to this tradeoff of losing magic for sensibility, or can we find reality somewhere in between mysticism and maturing

I’ve always been a fan of fantasy and science fiction, as it gives us a glimpse of a world unknown. An escape from the mundane banality of life in far-off places where ideas of good and evil are spoken simply in systems of dark and light. Although complexity exists, protagonists can easily point to the problems in their lives, fighting without holding back. It makes moving forward clear (though not necessarily easy) as the answer is there, though achieving success within is what is troubling. That’s what makes the story, though, that through individual circumstances that individuals find the path they must walk.

This, though, might be an oversimplification of the path that each of these individuals takes, that they may find that their world may become unmagical in a sense that the responsibility makes dragons and crystal balls feel ordinary, or spaceships and advanced technology feel more burdensome. That their maturity may leave them unable to escape this human experience of giving up ourselves in light of who we need to be. That these roads we take inevitably always leave us lesser than we started.

I want to think the answer is no. Through our paths forward, we can decide not to let the world destroy us and our belief in the mystical. Maybe it’s inspired by the book I’m reading (100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez), but perhaps life is in some ways this magical realism. That the magical becomes the mundane, but the mundane becomes magical. We only lose ourselves to maturity through accepting that treating the extraordinary as ordinary, as we believe that responsibility requires the organization of life into boxes and categories, without truly examining those containers after they are made. We decided that it was better to put away childish things because of the work required to remain open to the world’s magic. That our world would be a fantasy for us in another universe but we turn our mystical non-fiction into a fiction of banality and mundane because it is easier. That life may be complex and relationships difficult but they aren’t any less special because of the frequency of their occurrence. Perhaps the box is just a crutch; we should open it up to find the magic within.

So I truly ask again, do we have to give way to hard truths? Or can we just pay the bills and appreciate the dragons flying overhead?

How to Chase an Ideal and What That Means To Me

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I’ve been reading a lot of philosophy recently. It’s something I’ve always had an interest in, but as I’ve come away from my program, I find I’m looking for something—some sort of prose or meaning within the text that will somehow make an obfuscated absurdity make sense within the realm of my reality.

I’m looking for peace after all of this harm. To find a truth that I thought I would find within my program but realized, rather late, that was never there in the first place. The questions of what is my purpose, how to live well, and how to be a good person. To meaningfully give back and provide my unique aptitudes in pursuit of a greater good and truth. Glory as it were, disguised in so many words. Which is puzzling why, then, I would resonate so well with the ideology of stoicism.

The pursuit of intrinsic control at the behest of a grand and uncontrollable universe. To pursue no comfort and sanctuary outside of right action and mental fortitude. To forgo glory all together in light of higher principles. To see circumstance as only a mechanism in which I can temper the blade of my will. At least that’s the glamorous side of things, that stoics pronounce. What the true message of stoicism is the realization that the universe, however manufactured, lies well beyond the comprehension of mere man. That through the lack omniscient existence we are relegated to an life in which the greater machinations of a whole will continue to spin without the input and influence of ourselves. We find that the way forward is to recognize the humility of our situation and in the humanity of our existence, and attempt to refine the machine within. All actions otherwise are hubris.

This does not mean that in our attempts to control our own universe that we cut ourselves off outside influence and roar against the machine. It it know that we are apart of the machine just as the water and the wind. That make up and emanate influence but know not to go against the nature of the world. That we can life soundly without the intruiges of society as we made whole instead through the recognition of ourselves and our needs. Though, that to some it sounds like giving up in the face of overwhelming adversities, what it truly means is to understand and act intentionally when the need arises.

Stoicism is precision, and understanding. That through internal life and knowing thyself (a lifelong pursuit) that we can find solace in our nature and examine our experiences with eyes wide open. That meaning comes from the pursuit of higher values and through that you will find fulfillment and not find value in fulfillment. That we live presently and fight when we see that injustice and for all other complaints fall away.

I speak to this as I am, like you, attempting to understand my place. To recognize that my world and experiences, however harsh exist only in on small corner of the universe and by letting go of these sufferings I can find peace no matter where I go. To recognize that failure and fault and not the end of the road but simply a step on the journey. That I want to find peace but not at the cost of others suffering. That I want to find strength with substance. That I want to heal but first I must tend to the wound. That I want truth, but am afraid to open myself to reality. I need this pursuit as much as a runner needs a road. That only by recognizing the immensity of the universe may I find my own way to operate within it. Beyond myself, towards truth. Beyond myself, towards peace.

The Space Between Dreams and Healing

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Over the past few months, I’ve felt different than I have in a long long time. A quiet listlessness that has usurped my ambitions and set me down in this place of comfort and ease. That I come back from a long day without the need or worry to continue to operate as I had hours before at my desk. To consider the alternatives to the lifestyle that I have accommodated for so long. In thoughts restful hours, within that sense of serenity, I find the smoldering embers of dreams and ambitions asking to reawaken. Leaving the question of which life should I choose to live.

This decision I am face with feels different. Not the usual do or die, or the casual prosper or perish. No. This decision ask me what I feel that I want deep down in my soul. That now that I got a closer look at my dream and all of it’s imperfections whether I still want it. I hadn’t considered that in a long time. Whether my purpose lies with the dogged pursuit of truth or if I can put down this pen and drift elsewhere. The question of whether if I were to actually get everything that I want, will be fulfilled.

Perhaps that is a silly question all together, as I don’t remember the last time I have felt satiated. Will this hunger persist no matter the path? I find myself questioning whether this era of healing will drive me towards sanctuary or madness, in removing the only means I know to scratch this abominable itch deep within. The path I am on, at least for the moment, feels though hollow in it’s pursuit. Like the cornerstone is currently missing and I am holding my breath in hopes to one day for it to return. This unease of place and spaces to purse is disrupting a steady equilibrium that has sustained me for so long. Like eating hollow chips and empty calories, I know if things persist I will no find no quarter for my ambitions and anxieties.

I feel fragmented and in some ways incomplete. Though through this time I have also been given the liberty to spread my wings and mend my sorrows. I find the field of aplenty with noble pursuits but have no way of knowing which way to turn. I ask myself where I should go and what I should do as indecision runs itself through me. I am losing time but getting better as I do. What ever shall I do, in this place between ambition and healing.

For now I feel myself set against listless waves. Suspended in a sea in the hopes that I get swept to some foreign shore. I lay with my back against the water, facing towards the sky, hoping that the next time I go to open my eyes that I will have some ground to stand on and some worlds to conquer.

Cura

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I need to heal. I feel this in my mind, body, and soul. I shake and fret over moments so small that I sometimes feel on the edge of collapse. Though not crushing, it’s the sting from when you get scratched too deep—the pain that permeates and pulses. I push it down but even then I know I carry it with me. I need to heal, and I hope this is the first step.

I’m so worried about the damage of unraveling that I push down and compartmentalize the pain to keep me away from the struggle. This, though, cuts me off from something just as important: an expression of spirit. I’ve been neglecting it for some time. Making excuses about why I have stayed away. I couldn’t deal wit the feelings of beginning as it brought back all the memories of yesterday that feels so unsettling.

I’ve been fighting for so long that I am afraid I don’t know how to live outside the emotional battlefield. The stresses and scares of my experiences pervade me in such a way that I feel physically resistant to doing the things I need to do to help myself. So I come back here to put words on a page in the hopes that I can start to dig again into my spirit and push forward beyond my limitations. To find a space to be free of strife and live a life I am meant to. It feels like a tired song or a neverending story, but at the moment, I know no other way to heal.

These words split from my fingers to tell me something more, that I’ve been holding too much in and that now is the time to set myself free. To forgive me for the life I have lived and tell myself that it’s okay to have not measured up to who I wanted to be. It’s never too late, but don’t hold onto the image of yesterday to forsake the promise of tomorrow. I can’t help myself; it felt so sweet back then. The ravages of time felt like they took their toll, unfairly weighing on my face and body like a ship weathered by the constant sea and storm.

I know there is no going back; the past is within the past, but could it not have been more gentle in its transition? It makes me so afraid of working towards my dreams because of the pain I experience to get to this one.

But what does the cost matter if you were willing to pay it. You were willing to jump knowing that not all things in life come easy or work well. The pain you feel on your soul is a remark of a spirit that stayed true to itself despite the difficulties. A worn and beaten statue does not tell himself of all the injury but all the moments it learned to live through.

This way I too need to be true to myself, do I really want to live a life without difficulty? Would stopping now fulfill my journey of dreams? I know the answer is no, but I don’t remember where to begin again.

IPursuing a dream is the journey of a million steps, and what gets you there is to keep walking. There are moments when you will need to bandage your feet, take a moment to heal, and appreciate what you have accomplished along the way, but the only way forward is through.

Be kind, I may falter, as I begin this journey anew.

A Knotted Thread

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I feel as tangled thread and string. Whose lines have become taught and twisted from years of neglect, with risk the break should force be thrown asunder. All these ties are muddled together precariously, seemingly impossible, and inevitable at the same time. I look at my life, which all used to sit so uniformly driven to a single point now fraying from the pressure. I feel as if I am coming to point of needing to make sense of which of these filaments needs to stay or go. Which ones I need to safeguard and others which may just be thrown away. For now I sit, pulling on these strings, attempting to undo these snares and coils. What have I let myself become?

I’m so confused about this life. The infinite possibilities of a life well lived have created disparate paths to follow, and yet I feel both pulled everywhere and nowhere all at once. The hope is to find one string and grab hold, but which one to grasp? One that takes me further away from this place, full of mystery, wonder, and work, or one that is full of familiarity, ease, predictability, and experience. So far, my choices have come up with slack, as the cords I’ve drawn lead me to the echos of a thread that may have been but were cut short through the collision with someone else’s destiny. That is no fault of the thread, but it does leave me standing alone, needing to return to this pile of unanswered questions and looping destinies.

Perhaps I should be like Alexander the Great, cutting the Gordian cord and getting rid of this awful business, but what would I be left with? Unhappy people and shortened strings. It’s the kneading and proving that consumes my time. This determination to understand the difficulty before I lift a hand to fix it. But with each passing day, the knot remains, and my potential path moves further from me. I feel I am being left behind by this destiny I had invested so heavily. I’m afraid that I will find myself nowhere and that all this leads up to nothing. The mounting anxieties plague me as my accounts dwindle away like sands of an hourglass, knowing full well that eventually, my time will be up, and I will be left standing empty.

I sit and think of these paths, hoping to divine a better future for myself. But in believing in some way that each step will lead me down a road of no return, I remain unmoved. Unsensible as that is, when left with so many choices, I freeze, wondering whether the path I have taken to this point was the right one. So many questions, being left with my thoughts and space is probably how the cords got tangled up in the first place.

I sit here, examining the knot, wondering whether it will loosen and let me free. I stand stalled, but time is running, and all that’s left is to pull.

How to Avoid Betraying Yourself and Your Dreams

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Dissipate – Suzukasuraimu

I’ve been stuck in limbo, not knowing where my future will take me. Or perhaps I should say where I would take my future. I’ve been in this space for a while, wondering where what it is that I am going for. Each page written or application sent, I wait for the inevitable disappointment that lies on the other side. My mind feels stuck in the corner at a party, looking out and becoming envious of all the others who are shining and shimmering. Why can’t I be the one who dances? What is it I’m meant for in all of this world? Where is my next step supposed to be? Am I always supposed to be on the outside looking into the world as if it were to be a spectator to this grand play, never to grace the stage as an actor or an act but simply a background concept in the lore of another history or to watch others make moves. These are questions I can’t answer but I feel like the weight of these questions daily. It drives driving me down and into dark places. I know that these emphatic expressions are the manufacturing of a mind in need, but how do I find my way out when the world feels so colorless and devoid of merit.

I’ve wondered for a long time if being stuck at this doorway to my dreams is simply an act using me using the wrong keys or me finding the wrong address. I knocked at the door that people assured me was the place I was meant to be. People tell me, “There is no way you won’t get in,” and “Of course, you deserve to make it to the other side of the threshold.” And yet, here I stand as it begins to rain. The wet and cold mixes with the lonely feeling knocking at this door. I can’t seem to be able to open door so all that is left if hoping someone will hear my knocking and answer.

“Don’t want too much,” I tell myself. “If you want, then they can take it from you.” Voices of my past pains haunt my steps into those future directions of myself. How can I keep moving forward through all this anguish? No matter how fast my mind races, If I don’t know where the finish line is, there is never any hope of getting there. I don’t want to betray myself, my past, or my future. I started this road, and I intend to finish it, but the lights have gone out, and all I’ve been doing is following my feet. Is this the end of my race or just another segment? Will I find the finish line or just the road? If I make it to the end, will I find that fulfillment or just the emptiness of the road?

I feel again like I am bleeding sand out of my hands. I feel as though I was never meant to create anything of substance. The towers I build will fall away with water and wind as I watch, trying to constantly keep them upright during a storm. What is my purpose if not to create? Will there be a transcendent masterpiece of just dust on the wind for another generation? Though these are dramatic acknowledgments, they feel so real within me.

More questions come that I can’t quell. Truth and fate seem to be beyond reach as I begin to unravel, not knowing the path forward. If this is my fate to wallow and wander, to struggle and suffer, then so be it as it gives hopefully to a greater purpose, but without the name of that purpose, this struggle and suffering become cruelty. If it is just by the circumstance that I drew the shortest straw, so be it, as I know the probability is always reset at the start of the game. But what is this game I am playing, and is it worth it to keep anteing up? Why am I playing by the rules of a game that seems unjust or unfair?

I am most concerned for my heart which is aching and tired. It’s through these tumultuous times that I have to express myself. My dream that has driven me forward feels battered. Perhaps it was a fool’s idealism that had driven me to this wall, like a recompense for believing in something. I can understand why it’s easier to not hold onto anything, but without it I would have felt empty for all those years. That’s the strength that my dream has had on me, and now my dreams feel so tenuously hanging by a thread as the world has taken turns swinging its ax.

I feel as though if I were to lose this dream, I would lose myself in the chaos of the world. It’s the thing that I have clung to so readily to get me through all these changes, and if I can’t even have that anymore, then what is it this poor frog will aspire to come out of the well? Can I keep rising on the ambiguous prospect of a future unknown? Like stepping into the dark, hoping that I will somehow find a purpose and path?

I don’t even know what I’m looking for, a sign or a victory. I feel as though victory would not echo in the hollow of my chest. That this void is an endless hunger that can’t be filled as it was never meant to be. I don’t know if anything could have prepared me for my life, and I probably wouldn’t have believed them anyway. Is it foolish or wise? Was I disagreeable or following the flow? Was I foolishly following the path of my own creation or did I truly stumble onto the road where I was meant to be? I have disavowed so much, risen to meet the challenge in hopes that I arrive at the top of this mountain eventually, but I don’t even know if that is achievable for me. Have I hit my limit? Is this as far as I go?

I am struggling, and I don’t know what will help. I want to be alone but never left to myself. I have become the contradiction that I hoped to smooth out. Why is it so hard, and why does it hurt so much? And why does it feel like if I take a step back I would be giving it all away? I guess that is the burden of a dream and the weight of a heart. I can’t answer any of these questions, but all I can do is tell myself to keep trying.

Nights of Broken Lights and Darkened Paths

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I used to want to be a hero when I was younger. Someone who shines a light on those around me, allowing people to see the world and all its wonder as I have. To be able to find hope in the most dire of situations, to find the silver lining in the cloud of grey, to finally understand their worth and the worth they bring to others. Though there is nothing wrong with these lofty goals, wanting to make the world a better place, but I realized that heroes can only exist where there is danger and distress. Where the time and seasons fall hard, and waves wash over our heads, a hero is needed to be there to right the wrong and save the day. It’s the light that needs the dark to exist. The greatest gift to a hero would truly be a world where they are not necessary. It concerns me sometimes that the archetype of the hero presupposes their rarity. That their actions would not be commonplace. That other would not act when the need arises. We need those to carry that role for others as the world will not take care of them on their own. Though this is a bit of a ramble, what I’m trying to get at is that is that there is not enough action and care to go around, that certain people need to shoulder that burden uniquely. That the world is a dark place for many others and people crave the path forward. It’s a lost place, with people feeling like their are surrounded by thick fog, feeling their way through and hoping that each step they take they are not getting close to the edge of a cliff.

It’s been my experience, as of late, that there are so many people who’ve just lost their way. People who have been out into the world with the expectation of competency but no explanation of how they are supposed to proceed. That they see the world and their situation as dangerous, disenchanting, and disastrous. That the bell rings in the morning and dispair for the continuance of life of the sets in.

I understand this completely because I’ve been there. The world, at times, is a harsh and unforgiving place, which leaves no room to know where to go. It feels like we fall behind because this mismatched expectation gives us no understanding of direction or feeling as if there is no time to grow to meet the challenge. We are stuck in a cycle, hoping for someone to reach out and tell us that we will be okay or extend a hand in help. It’s so hard to push forward as we feel alone in the universe, just trying not to get too close to the edge.

I’ve recently, for better or worse, taken on the whole of mentor and teacher to some very unexpected people. People who ordinarily would be perfectly capable on their own, but their lives seem to have burdened them with unnecessary troubles. But as time has passed, I’ve become more acutely aware of all those around me who feel the same. These people want that light, that guide, to clear away the fog and give them some semblance of direction. It’s just within these systems that we live that give no real guidance in the path to take, so we cling to the familiar in the hopes that the path we have taken will eventually lead us to where we want to go.

It feels like a breakdown in the community in which these problems can be voiced and care can be provided. I feel sorry at times for those who I help because I know I’m not enough. I can try to be the light in the darkness, but sometimes I feel like I am but a mere candle flame among the sea. That I, though, can help illuminate the way, but may not be able to show them their direction or help them heal from their wrongs. I’m scared that the advice I give will hurt them, that I will lead them astray. that they will regret their time and for listening to a fool like me. I just hope that I can be a warm presence to them. That I can give them strength to stand on their own. That one day they won’t need me anymore because the love and care they need will be right there for them.

I don’t know if I’m enough on this broken street of mine, with flickering lights and overgrown paths. I will keep you safe, but your journey is your own. I just hope I can help you be more of yourself and remember your strength because I think there should be more of you in the world, too.

Somewhere I belong

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Linkin Park’s music filled the headphones during my youth. Being played on repeat to a crowd of one, their music was like a perfect whirlwind touching down into my life when the world felt chaotic, and a storm was exactly what I needed. The music themes of hurt, pain, and loneliness resonated with the depth of my desperate struggle to feel wanted in all the years I felt alone.

As I grew older, I found spaces that I felt were supportive and people who were willing to support me. The need to listen to Linkin Park went away, and that feeling of finding something new to sustain me grew. Years past as I made progress towards feeling whole, maybe by pushing aside these much more difficult feelings. I sometimes wondered if I was actually healing or just pushing away these sorrows and hurts to a more manageable place. What I didn’t expect with all my progress is that graduate school would uproot my comfort, uproot my hurt, and make me come face to face with my trauma when I still felt unready and unwilling. Though we do not get to choose the moments of our lives that need to deal with our problems, there were certainly better and worse moments. Even through the miracle that has been brought about by the most recent freedoms, I still feel drawn back into that darkness, drowned in difficulty, feeling alone and out of place.

Sometimes, my life feels like I’m still that kid, listening to that cathartic rock/hip-hop music, wondering when my time will come. When the doors open, when I feel welcomed into a place I was meant to be. When my talents, time, and presence are all seen as an asset rather than just existing in that space. I feel warmed by conversations and don’t feel paranoid about whether or not my comments are received positively. Maybe that is too much to ask from the world, but it’s so fundamental that it feels wrong to believe it should not exist.

This is my great fear for the next stage of my life. That I continue to feel this unease as I move into these spaces where I don’t belong and miss the opportunity to find a better place for me. That the uneasiness is not a feature of needing to learn or adapt but a much more fundamental impediment of my character. That I have gone all this way just to be unfit for the spaces I have striven for. After all these years, I’m still that kid wondering when my time will come, and I will find these places and people I am meant to be with. When I finally self-actualize and feel like I could contribute meaningfully. Places where I’m not constantly second-guessing myself because of this fear of ineptitude. Is this just how academics are meant to feel? If so, why would I want to put myself through this. If this is a sign I don’t belong, then why am I so afraid of doing something new.

Though I have moved to a better place and found friends I can rely on, I sometimes feel still like that lonely boy listening to Linkin Park, but maybe that will continue to be my motivation to find someplace better. Someplace I belong.

The Art of Change and Growth

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In times of great change, when the ground shakes and the skys buckle, do we say that all this is how it is intended to be? Do we believe the earth,3 after such torment, was always this way? We just needed time to discover some humble facet that, through time has gone overlooked. When mountains rise out of the sea and when great valleys are carved, do we believe that nature is just returning to itself? I say this as it makes me ponder the essence of change for ourselves: can we truly change, or is this journey of continual self-discovery?

I’ve just returned from a trip, one of those trips that I always promised myself I would go on, and I am endlessly happy that I did. I walked across farway lands, across fields, mountains, and forests; all for the purpose of finding something I had lost long ago.

I can recount this tale in its entirety, telling you about each step I walked and the road I crossed, but those are simply the mechanics of a much more magnificent journey. A journey of the spirit and the soul let to wander and heal.

You see upon this path for me laid a great many things, but most important of them was time. Time to process and debate all these little things that I had experienced through the past four years when I had felt like I had lost myself. Time made synonymousw with distance as each moment was a movement, and so as I was moving through the world so was I moving through these heavy thoughts and emotions.

I started with rediscovering love, allowing it to pour from my fingertips onto the land. To pervade my thoughts, words, and action. To imbue itself in a sense of care that I feel an outpouring of myself. Through love I felt full as I continued to give it away.

Then I thought about the idea of quality and meaning, these things that can not be readily measured by scale or stick. These pieces of ourselves become disregarded as those around us have difficulty writing down or calculating their metric. The idea of being good, is so amorphous and yet so vital to being human that we write books and tales about how to achieve it.

I experience the anger that I hid away, behind rocks and stones. It came out on the heated road, alone on the way as this even hotter frustration pushed it’s way to the surface. To be heard, to be seen, to be experienced, as it was meant to be.

I experience that healing, this breath of the world. A peace only achievable, I’m convinced, when you allow everything to flow through you. To allow the pettiness and grief to run its course so that way you can inhale the world and all of its wonder. It allowed me to let go and in doing so find myself.

In the finality of this journey, I was filled with all I could describe as life, vital, chi, and anima. This spirit of things made me thankful for existence, thankful for the time and all I have left of it. It made me thankful for my moments and wishful for the future. It gave me back to myself and this feeling of being whole.

So I ask this question: Did this trip change me or did I just become more of myself? Did these moments impact me or was this all just there in the first place. Did a mountain form or a valley manifest. Did the sea come knocking to shape my body just as the world? Changed irrevocably, though made better by its presence. For that, I don’t know, but I am nevertheless grateful.

Teetering

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Ronan Furuta

This post has been a long time coming. The idea for it has been sitting in the back of my mind for months as I’ve been attempting to deal with my own mental health in the wake of the pervasive shock to my system that has occurred since I’ve been in this stateless place. Though through the process of thinking through this post, the contents and contexts have changed, I think the feelings generally still apply.

When I was young, I hated the rides and roller coasters at theme parks and fairs as the idea of being taken around a metal contraption you had no control over seemed like a silly notion to a kid who never felt in control of his own life. So any time any of my family or friends wanted to ride a ride, I would walk through the lines with them until it came time to take your place in the wagon, cart, or wheel. At that point, I would simply walk out the exit. Everyone in line would try and convince me to stay, telling me how not scary it really was and if I were to just try and ride, I would like the experience. However, I knew this to be untrue as every ride up to this point felt like an excruciating experience, and making the ride taller and faster did not make relate to making the experience any better for me. So I would leave, and in those few moments of freedom, I would watch and wonder what the other people must have been experiencing being taken around by these giant machines.
At these parks, I become fascinated with one ride in particular, round up. This ride consisted of a spinning disk surrounded by metal fences, usually with beautiful blinking lights on the outside. Every time the ride stopped, new people would file in and find a spot, and then slowly, the disk would spin like a top. Up and down, left and right, round and round again, as people felt themselves pushed back into the fence without so much as a strap or buckle. I would watch people go around, unable to move as this large machine tilted and teetered back and forth. Until sometime later, the ride would slow and come to a stop before starting all over again. I wasn’t so much fascinated with the experience of the ride but the motion of the machine as it would bring people up and down with so much ease creating the illusion of excitement with every lift but never actually changing the experience of those who are riding it. It is in these times when I would stand there watching the blinking lights go round and round, what it would be like wondering what it would be like to just spin forever.

I never really put much thought into the ups and downs of my life other than the occasional consideration as to whether the inconsistent but frequent tumults stem from avoidable circumstances or actions. It wasn’t until the stacking of traumas and tragedies that it felt thought that my own world began to teeter uncontrollably. These high highs would be followed by low lows, each success followed promptly by a disappointment. This moving back and forth became heavy, and I began to become scared of spikes that would throw my world into chaos.

Truthfully it felt like someone had their hand on my head and would push it under the water, only to bring me up to catch my breath. I was swaying, spinning, and losing my footing. Each day became a chore, and each night a relief. Life became like walking through water, getting up on instinct rather than motivation.

I can tell you that I didn’t realize how much my mind was spinning round and round until I finally got some medicine that let it stand still. I didn’t know how pressure accumulated and built upon me, crushing my body and my hopes and dreams. It was then that it felt like I had lost myself, and it made me wonder why I tried so hard in the first place. I lost my way; the spinning made me lose sight of the ground and the sky, for it all to become a blur that some invisible force kept me down. Each teeter gave me hope but then promptly dashed it. Things I could normally handle began to stack higher, and the impossibility of banal tasks made me sink lower. When these dark thoughts began to pervade my mind and my feelings, all my actions that I felt out of control and I wanted to disappear. To hopefully be thrown for the ride and survive or at least to stop this misery.

I don’t know how to escape the ride or if the medicine will let me off. These pills I take scare me because of how well they work. Knowing some external force is making my body feel normal again. It makes me worried that I will be stuck with them, forever unable to be me on my own. Dependent on something else to stop the spinning. I feel like I’m on that round-up machine that is beginning to slow, hoping now that I have the power to make it to the end. I don’t know what else I may experience, but I know I’m not cured. I feel my body still be heavy but at least I feel strong enough at the moment to lift it. Through it all it still feels like I’m still going round and round, watching the world teeter and twirl, and wishing I was still that kid watching from the fence, wondering what it would be like to spin forever.