I HAVE RETREATED INTO MYSELF TO SEARCH WITHIN
There are no paths where I'm going, only chaos. There is no sound, only garbled noise. There is no up or down, no left or right. I have to create it out of nothing and make sense of what was never meant to make sense, and yet if I don't, it will continue to hound me, to stalk me; it will continue to feed on me from the inside, until it will make me hollow and brittle, and I will collapse like a skin-sack without bones to hold it up because they rotted away, the flesh long eaten to nothing by the fears and the doubts and the self-hatred. It is the path to coming out the other end and being able to share my journey, when I'm through. And I'm not through it yet, I may have just turned its darkest corner.
I'm at the very bottom of thinking and rethinking, dreaming and re-dreaming, finding and losing and finding again, that elusive self that was lost ages ago and torn to bits and scattered all over the chaos that made its home inside me. It's hard to carry it; it's heavy and it likes to shift the opposite way of where I'm going, my past, my memories, my history, my life events that shaped me and destroyed me and shaped me again. It is perhaps a pilgrimage I'm on, delving deep into my own psyche like into a desert, dragging my feet through the sands of unknown, my throat parched, my eyes blinded by the sun, my skin burned to crisp by day and frozen to crust by night, and burned again in the morning.
There is no space for anything else in that desolate place. I have to traverse it alone. I have to find not what I'm seeking but what I'll let occur to me. And for that I have to keep looking.