The Climb Is Real

Between bits of intense emotions lies a cold predominant feeling. It is quite impossible to determine its source or ascertain the cause of its existence, but it was there, growing, rising and momentarily seen through flashes of light induced by the little triggers. And now, it’s stronger than ever.

This feeling resembles a wall so high, blocking any attempt to touch and connect with what’s beyond it; and what’s beyond it, is everything… and nothing. Because maybe the wall doesn’t exist; it is not real save in your mind: you created it to make sense of this listless feeling.

Where you stand, on your side of the wall, there’s comfort; it is safe. However, the nocturnal air is anxious, and you’re thinking about the wall and what’s beyond it. The thoughts, they turn your comfort into restlessness, they yield a new lone thought: the answer lies in climbing the wall. It would be risky, not always comfortable, but it would also make you feel alive. So you climb the wall and hope for the best.

The wall may not be real but the climb is. The climb is real. And it is, in a sense, a path to new opportunities, good and bad, to everything.



When I write these words, when I let you have a glimpse of something unknown; something unknown to me, but living within my mind, my heart. It is not because I want you to understand or relate but, rather, because I have to get it out. What is it? It is a dark, overwhelming, excruciating inability to feel anything. It is addictive, it is destructively empowering, and it is arcane.

A myriad of experiences impacted me. I became intoxicated with pathological thought; like a blurry, disturbed lake water as someone has dropped a rock into. With violent ripples forming on the surface, the reflection on the water becomes distorted, and unlike normal water, the ripples never disappeared with time, and the water never became still and clear again. I was forever blurry, and the distortion everlasting.

But I do forget sometimes; I forget what it is like. Forgetting is a temporary sanctuary. And I do hope sometimes; I hope that someday something or someone will make that sanctuary a permanent one.