How much sharing is too much? When does it move from sharing to TMI? Days when there are things banging on the inside of my skull, refusing to be silenced until they are released on the world, days such as these I can't and don't really care if I am giving out To Much Information. The alternative is explosive decompression. Which would be messy at best. From the moment I awoke, even in dreams before I woke, Brain has been in full blown panicspaz. Spirit is sliding from the chair and into a puddle on the floor. Body is hanging in there, solid, as usual, but so tired, anemic, and yet all a-jitter with nervous energy. It is not a comfortable state to be out in public. I do have the stoic mask in place, looking in a mirror I look placid and care-worn, but without a flicker of the inner turmoil. This is a good thing, it lets me get through the day without having to explain myself to anyone. But I see beyond the mask, the passivity, the calm demeanor. The mirror hides nothing from me. I can see beneath the skin, behind the eyes, to the chaos, the maelstrom, the tempest. Eyes closed is even more revealing as I tune in to the clamor and cacophony of incomprehensible noise that echoes in a seemingly empty skull. Echo upon echo, until the din takes on a life of its own that can be felt pounding into flesh, coursing through veins and vibrating me to the marrow. I force myself to write, to bring order to the chaos, to make comprehensible the cacophony, an attempt to restore order and calm. To force words into logical sequence, to form solid thoughts from shapeless handfuls of grey matter as an artist works in clay.
So, is this TMI? Should I, dare I, share so much of the inner workings of me? It feels as if the choice was taken from me long ago, as if my only option is to flay myself open for the world to see in order to regain a modicum of control. To release it all into the universe with the hopes that all will coalesce, evolve from primordial ooze to sentient being. For now, the ooze is in charge, leaking from my ears, spilling out over my life, slowly absorbing all around me. So, flayed, vivisected, excoriated for the world to see, for me to see within myself. It is all I know to do when dissonance drowns ataraxis, when serenity is subjugated by pandemonium, when confusion and bedlam reign supreme. I do what I can, messy as it is.