There are times, throughout my days, I wish for moments of clarity amongst the thousands of negative thoughts that stream through my mind. More of those moments where I can look at where I have been and where I am going and say both "what the fuck" and "this is what I need to do" simultaneously.
When I do have them, they almost always make me feel crazier than I already lead myself to believe I am.
Which is pretty fucking crazy.
They are fleeting pauses in time but they are there nonetheless. Engrossed with a sense of tangibility. Like if I just held my breath long enough it might stay. Like it might actually become a part of me. Of my life. Instead, it hides itself beneath the surface of a hundred scarred cuts on my body.
I wonder, at times, what it must be like to live without the worry of obscurity. To not see the world around you through a prism: not registering the six different outcomes on the other side of everything you encounter. What it must feel like to not add self hate and criticism to every sentence someone speaks to you. How natural it must feel to accept love and support without questioning its motives.
The extent to which my envy grows when interacting with humans who so effortlessly switch between those colored lenses of their life is immeasurable. To think there are actually people who live their lives where the majority of their day is seen without obstructions. People who thoughtlessly experience long streaming amounts of clarity, and don't think anything of it. That there are people who couldn't begin to understand what it feels like to walk through a memory before every word they speak. Or grasp the exhaustion of having to weave in and out of pasts and presents just to make it through the day.
Explaining myself to them usually feels exhaustingly difficult. And of course, I never get to do it through moments of clarity. Those moments only ever shows up in the wake of splitting myself open. Only after pouring out every shambled thought or concern. And of course, that in itself, is the crazy.
The splitting myself open.
Non-prism seeing eyes don't see the multitude of colors you are spilling out of yourself. They can't see that you don't know which one to follow. Which one to move forward with. They can't see that every color has been carefully constructed by trial and error. Instead, they just remind you that you aren't seeing clearly. That your colors aren't based on real things.
But...they are.
Violet was when you were taught that love meant pain. In every sense of the word. BELONGING.
Yellow was age eight when you were convinced of your unworthiness. FAMILY.
Red is the reminder that boundaries are not an option. You will drown without them. Even if its a brick wall. SELF PRESERVATION.
Blue taught you to apologize even when you had nothing to apologize for. ACCEPTANCE.
Orange burned itself into you the first time you thought you were free of him. SERVITUDE.
And Green was when you learned that trust is something you can only have with yourself. SUPPORT.
