The problem with insanity is that
it isn't glamourous the way movies portray. It isn't hours of passionate sex
with a lover that makes your soul feel as if its on fire, nor is it mindless
days spent starting out at the mesmirizing horizon of a peaceful ocean. It
isn't hazy glimmering sparkles, laughing for no reason, taking an adventure and
running with it. All of these things are good, yet there is nothing good about
insanity.
It is a storm, and not the
beautiful kind with gentle rain and rolling thunder, not the kind that washes
away your sins, that makes you feel as though there may be hope afterall. It is a
destructive hurricane of emotions that never end, never stop, not when you eat,
sleep, shower. Even your dreams are tainted by the cold, cruel nothingness that
is this illness. It's rain drops pounding so hard against your bare skin that
it stings, it's howling winds, sometimes screaming, sometimes whispering, but
always there to tell you how worthless you are, you are a waste of space, you
may as well go ahead and die, because you already did on the inside, and there
is no shelter from it. It's wind that threatens to destroy you, waves pounding
your battered, beaten mind into the rocky shore, painful and unrelenting.