I spend so much time picking apart my psyche, poking it with a stick, examining it under the microscope in an attempt, so I lie to myself, to be better grounded. Truth be told, it is a mechanism I employ to hide from myself the truly fragile nature of my being. As long as I am actively examining, I can think less about the delicate balance I work so hard to achieve. I know that just under the surface, the calm, rational, steely exterior, is that fragile creature, the delicate nature, the emotional rollercoaster, the brittle me that can shatter at a touch. I delve deep into my motives, actions, reactions, my past and present, my desires and needs, delve deep to keep my mind busy. My mind must stay busy, active, in order to maintain at least a semblance of balance, calm and stability. I know for fact just how easy the exterior is penetrated, how quickly my stability can be undermined, that the gentlest push can tip the scales. I do not like living a precarious existence, though it is my nature.
Some days it can truly be a moment by moment effort to hold tight to my tenuous grip on what passes as reality in my life. I know that the next meltdown is always close to the surface, held in check by sheer willpower and stubbornness. Because I also know that I cannot return to the depths of despair that are still so fresh in my mind, that abyss that threatened to swallow me whole just a few short months ago. Just under the surface, so close I can see it rippling under my translucent skin. It writhes like salmon in a shallow stream, fins nearly cresting the surface, causing the water to shiver in response. There it is, I can see it, feel it, touch it. I know it merely waits for the opportunity to break the surface, to leap free of my carefully constructed constraints.
Despite all my efforts to keep the inevitable meltdown contained, I also find myself forcing issues that are bound to sabotage my hard won control. I pursue, push, press. I cause conflict, chase unobtainable dreams, set unrealistic goals. I reach beyond my comfort zone. I lay bare my heart and soul. I confront with open honesty, knowing that rejection will likely be the result. Is this a subconscious drive to keep my demons well fed, active and productive? Am I, as I was once accused of, a drama addict? I chose to think not. But the thought niggles at my brain. I know I cannot keep myself reined in, but know that to unleash myself causes mayhem, mayhem causes disaster, disasters leave me shaken and alone. Alone with my demons. Then I berate myself, knowing I crossed the line. But knowing I had to.
It is a true conundrum. Be true to myself, true to my nature and risk all, or forcibly alter my nature to maintain a calm course. Knowing what lurks just beneath the surface, what waits to be loosed on my world, knowing but feeling helpless to stop it. Fighting against my own nature, the struggle, the mental anguish I bring upon myself. Hand in hand with the meltdown is also my inner lunatic. That vital spark that is my very essence. I cannot have one without the other, or my life will be lived in shades of gray. I cling to at least the appearance of calm, though I want to let my inner lunatic out into the sunlight to dance and play. The inner lunatic that drives my creativity, sensuality, sexuality. The manic dancer, the insomniac, the whirlwind. I think I might as well try to capture the wind, tame the fire. But I also know it will likely keep me delicate and brittle. There is always a price to be paid.