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IN my life I have learned every possible way to go around an obstacle without getting past it at all. I felt like Sisyphus, pushing that boulder up the tall mountain in hell, for it to only turn around and roll back down again.

I have felt like a vampire, a ghost, a ghoul, a monster, and a dead person at times.

I've questioned also why my conscience must be so sensitive that I feel like a monster simply because I get angry a lot and I argue a lot.

I've questioned my chronic disregard of what other people think in favor of what is good or convenient to me at the time.

I've spent years troubled about why my mother never loved me enough to leave me feeling secure and loved. She loves me, but it's never enough. I feel like a vampire.

I've questioned my own worth as a person when potential friend after potential friend has reacted negatively towards me because of something that I couldn't really accept because it seemed so hateful or bigoted or intolerant. Similarly I could never understand why my friends never treated me like a best friend when I loved them so much.

I've questioned my femininity when I could never manage to attract a good boyfriend who would be loyal to me. I could never understand why loyalty was not a given, in a relationship.

I've questioned my rights to expect fair treatment from my loved ones, when I don't share an equal amount of the work. I've accepted any treatment, without having the ability to leave any situation. I was grateful for what I got, and never was beaten.

I named my blog "My Haunted Mind" because I picture myself as a woman sitting in a chair and she has a haunted mansion for a head. The haunted mansion is my mind, all these years haunted by something I could never define yet was barely perceptible all around me and never suspected within me.
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disease of thought

Posted 05-09-15 at 12:53 PM by icarusinflames
Updated 05-09-15 at 05:20 PM by icarusinflames
[QUOTE]Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.
-- Edgar Allen Poe[/QUOTE]


If there is a creator, I would feel the most extreme tenderness towards the creative act of making man so beautiful broken.

The agony of being painfully self-aware and stained through to the heart with melancholy and dread and masochistic self doubt can only be understood in a creative mind never linear, never formalistic, but cycling and sifting and skidding through all the deep morass of depression.

I have never felt more in love with myself. I do not think this is narcissism but TRUE understanding for the first time of who I really am and how I think, and how incredibly wonderful I feel about my creative mind. I am not afraid of my utter paralysis anymore, because I believe that I have tools now to work creatively and produce finished works from my imagination.

I can't wait for the day when I know I was able to do what I most desired.
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