Water and Chaos

Found this on my hard drive. I don't hate it.

                Dire, shifting currents consume what is left of the sanity in my mind. Tumultuous concepts of dark and macabre taboos encircle the remaining vestiges of healthy, productive thoughts. Like piranha these chaotic ideas strike at my thoughts from blind angles, picking off small portions of what little remains. The floundering beast that was once my will now struggles in vain against the torrent of innumerable minute adversaries.
                I feel as if I am drowning.
                My own mind is the sea, and I, a solo wayfarer, am lost without sight of shore or hope for rescue. I ramble through the empty turbulent space, seeking a salvation found only at the end of a struggle through an abyss dark as a moonless night. I feel myself floating through this dismal seascape of my own construction, the piranha of doubt circling below me. The sea becomes thicker with each passing thought of depression and confusion, feeding off the doubt and loathing in my mind, threatening to pull me further and further from the surface.
                In the sky above this world of my own mental making, beyond the clouds of haze and uncertainty there is only a single dim glimpse of hope. This hope is a halo of opportunity lighting the clouds of despair from far behind them. Though these clouds seem distant and impenetrable once reached, this light breaks through them to grant me vision of possibility. I float and swim with my head barely above water, seeking higher ground to reach impossibly to the sky above and through the clouds.
                There is no higher ground in sight of me. I spy no islands of rest. There is only myself, and this thick viscous liquid that drags me through doubt and despair. The currents of my own thought trends pull and tow me through the infinite abyss of thought, with no hope of a boat of resolution to steel myself against the tides. I have no transport through my own ocean of thought. I find no oar to push aside the desperate, clinging pessimism, and to swat the beasts that lurk within it.
                My arms, the method of locomotion I use to push through the barriers of thought, grow tired and weary in the struggle. My legs, the certainty that keeps me grounded to the facts that I perceive as the reality I am, become heavy and numb with the lack of earth. My lungs, which pull in the freshest of air and idea, become absolute as the nothingness around me vacuums out the freshness I had.
                In desperation I cling search my mind, this nothingness of content, and find only a single floating idea, drifting alone in the muck that I have made of myself. It is far and distant, and I am tired and weak from this struggle, but it is there, and that is hope. I glance to the hope in the sky, the goal that I have kept my eye on for so very long through this ordeal, and find this single thought in the line between myself and my desire.
                What is left of the optimism in my heart pumps fully through my veins, energizing the hopeless and failing systems within. I grip the idea, the floating driftwood in the chaos and tides of macabre. I cling to this thing. I beg for myself that it will save me, that it will lead me to an island of safety, if only for moments before I find my resolve. From this rest I am able to find strength, the hope within this thought brining faith to the godlessness I am in.
                I use this driftwood thought to propel myself forward, to search for the answers to lead to the hope that shines through the clouds. I carry this thing with me, because it is the thing that saved me from myself. This rest is deserved, and I shall find within it courage. I shall use my new found blessing to fuel resolve within me, and I will find my island. I will break those clouds. I will grasp the sun. I will be free of myself and this nothing.

Reviews

[mare]

this is haunting, bringing to mind with perfect clarity dark murky places. i love the almost lilting quality to it, somewhere between a poem and a story, i imagine despite its darkness i would like to hear this read aloud. towards the end i kept circling back mentally, wondering what was that "single floating idea, drifting alone in the muck"? after i had finished i decided it was better off knowing, more universal, easier to identify with. :) all in all a lovely write thank you.