I have problems accepting that not all of my memories are real. I don’t know if I will ever truly get over them. Today I’m in doubt.
An argument I’ve held since I was a teen consists of soul memories. We have our minds memory, we have instinct, we have muscle memory, why couldn’t a proverbial soul retain some form of memory? Things that have shaped it since it’s creation.
I know I should blame the illness, and I know it’s not healthy to entertain thoughts like this. But I’m struggling.
I have to actively tell myself that I’m not divine, that I’ve always been human, and this life is real. My memories don’t help, be they dream, vision, or thought. I can still feel my wings, restless ache from behind.
I’ve seen gates, and fires, endless dusk, and eternal dawn. The planes, the elementals, the pillars, and the pit. I believe I’ve witnessed them all.
I question sometimes why I stay here. Why I don’t just move on. I think it comes down to my loved ones, I do it for them. I feel so jaded to this life, nearly a contempt at times. If I didn’t have them…I wouldn’t want to be here.
So, like the thing I am, I’ll rally once again, put on a brave face, smile, laugh, and pretend to be human, in some dismal effort to drink the kool-aide and fit in. All the while still harboring this weight.
“An angel that commits an unforgivable sin, is cast down to a world of suffering, given one life.”
Sigh. I’m not making a good case for my own sanity, am I? I think I’m just confused. May not of slept well. I know I’ve been taking my pills, I try to be very good about them. The Zyprexa really helps with the voices, but I still get the odd thoughts.
Thank you for reading my aimless rant, I wish you all a good day.
