The Freedom of Oblivion

• Diaries

								
The Freedom of Oblivion

I wish I could forget who I am. That every memory whose pain took so much space in my head would be forgotten. That within people and situations in life I could just move past their feelings. Move past what they're thinking. In my mind I carry not only the overwhelmingness of my own life but of everyone else’s. In my mind I live captivated by every single thing I have done in my life. Trapped by every could have and what if, trapped by the person I could have been and by the person I am now. The unexplainable anger that consumes my mind and feeds in me like a deserted wolf on a mountain. Hoping that maybe if I break it down on a piece of paper it might become easier to digest for someone to help me simmer it down. Every day I destroy my mind a little more in hopes of understanding it, maybe if I enslave my mind in itself and retract from ever letting someone read my thoughts then I could fix myself. Maybe I could still fix myself. No one else could fix the engineering of my mind, for I am the engineer, the architect. The walls in my mind and the hallways of thoughts are only legible to me, I keep the map for myself. Because if anyone must be captivated by the endless quagmire that my brain was then it should only be the one who created it. Who else could fix me if only I had the key? I have tried to explain my mind to those willing to listen, but none are ever able to explore it. 
I must be some sort of disconfigured perception of life. For if no one can travel through the paths my mind has made then who is supposed to help. 
I think too much and I feel too much, eviscerated by the will to know better but inability to feel better. I am my own jungle of misheard and misconstrued thoughts and I am tired of being this person, of feeling like an enigma instructed in a language no one knew. Perhaps I am the one who has gotten herself here because I have always believed myself to be incomprehensible I have become it. Perhaps that is why I find myself here, lonely and afraid. 
There is no pride in my independence, there is only shame. There is no pride in my mind who has only been trained to analyze every bit of myself and others, there is only pity. I would rather be a fool with a happy mind than whatever monster the act of knowing has created. 
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