Moshpit of Memories

Like the sound of pattering footsteps of an intruder in the hallway, at night, my thoughts echo distantly at the back of my head. If you are a person shaped by contexts, you'd understand when I say that my thoughts play tug-of-war between sleep and stupor as I slip into a tub full of "what ifs"

As I culminate a whirlwind of a week, I find myself knocking around in a room full of experiences. Experiences maketh a man they say. While I'm unsure about that, it's definitely made a hot mess of me. But, don't be concerned yet, I'm familiar with maneuvering the roads of hot-mess-ville.

It always takes a jolt for me to put pen to paper. All kind of jolts, the gleeful ones to the ones I'd rather not have but, can't avoid. This week though felt like a stash of Halloween loot, going down the throat, all at once! what is it about these bitter-sweet moments that introduce you to yourself? holding your hand and walking you into a blissful encounter or just throwing you into a moshpit of memories and saying "go figure". I take a knife to these memories, with an intention to bleed out and wipe its smug smile of victory over me. I try hard to not brew emotions that I don't want others to smell but, like sneaky dregs that slip out of the sieve, they settle at the bottom of my sunken self.

We are burdened by the struggle of wrestling emotions from nascent years, yet, we still struggle with certain emotions. It's like all the burden has conditioned us to nothing.  While I was inquiring this thought, I stumbled upon a little "note to self" that I had left, in the same hallway of doubt ages ago. Maybe it's meant to be lived through, these brief yet painful bouts of self-doubt and loathing are meant to be survived. I wouldn't go far enough to say there's light at the end of the 'struggle' but there's an end for sure. And the end appears when we want it, there's no map or a manual to traverse this meandering path but there's a path and for now, that should be good!