Now and then it feels as though I am going to lose my mind. Not by choice, mind you; I'm not sure anyone willfully loses any semblance of mental health, and if they do they are likely already in a padded room. The world has a habit of baring down on us, and it would strangle the lot of us if it had the chance. In truth, it's strangled quite a few of us already; just look at the number of suicides per year. It's staggering what happens to us when we feel we are out of air, even if we're breathing one-hundred percent oxygen.
What do we do to cope? Some of us abuse substances, some of us lose ourselves in fantasy worlds, and even more of us are stuffing our noses into fancy cell phones in an attempt to ignore the horrors about us. Who can blame us, really? The world is scary, especially when one has been brought up in abundance and safety. It is hard to imagine scarcity and danger, even when it knocks on one's door. So we turn to our vices, stick our entire beings into something impersonal, and put our brains on autopilot in an effort to strain the noise out from the signal.
If you are able to do these things, I both dislike and am envious of you. It must be nice to forget oneself and the world around, to be in tune with absolutely nothing other than one's own selfishness, to suffer only when one wishes to. It must be nice to be able to stick one's fingers in one's ears and pretend the monsters don't exist.
I am unable to do these things, try as I might. My mind does not know silence; it is always active in one form or another, pointing things out and coming to conclusions. It keeps me awake at night, whispering doom in such a fashion that I am unable to ignore. This is all poetical imagery, of course; all of this is done by my own volition as there is no way for my mind to speak on its own. If there was, I would be seeking help.
What I mean is that substances, fantasy, or going on autopilot are options for coping that I do not and never have had. I see the world around me, feel it under my feet, the stink invades my nostrils. The world I experience is capable of overwhelming the senses, and not always in a pleasant way. It's been hard to deal with.
Feeling helpless is not something I've ever been suited for - sitting around and feeling bad only makes me angry. I've never really been one to simply take what is thrown my way. While I may show quiet resignation from time to time, at the very least I am plotting vengeance, at the most I am happily and loudly throwing it away. It's enough to say that I'm taking quite a lot of time to say that I do not shy from confrontation when I feel endangered. I've always felt that sets me apart in some ways; despite what we may say to sound tough, many of us become passive-aggressive because we fear retaliation.
So what happens to me? I get angry, to the point where I feel as though I am aflame and shaking with a berserker's rage. I choose to do so, as the only other alternative for me is to allow myself to be beaten down. Fighting back is in my blood, and I'll never tire of it so long as I exist within a world I can neither agree with nor remove myself from.
How do I cope?
I disobey.
