Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

why do you let me stay here.

"I know I have an ocean of sadness inside me and I have been damming it my entire life. I have always imagined that something was supposed to rescue me from the ocean. But maybe the ocean is its own ultimate rescue – a reprieve from the linear mind and into the world of feeling. Shouldn't someone have told me this at birth? Shouldn't someone have said, 'Enjoy your ocean of sadness, there is nothing to fear in it,' so I didn't have to build all those dams? I think some of us are less equipped to deal with our oceans, or maybe we are just more terrified, because we see and feel a little extra. So we build our shitty dams. But inevitably, the dam always breaks again. It breaks again and the ocean speaks to me. It says 'I'm alive and it's real'. It says, 'I'm going to die and it's real.'"

– Melissa Broder.


Aloof and disingenuous,
pressure is placed on the accelerator while turning the corner.

Donned in white, 
braving the rain in a lionhearted facade.

The trembling right hand tightened its grip on the wheel.
The left hand was on stand-by to take control.

Seemingly daunted,
but clutching on 
to the dynamic suspension of the mind
 waiting to be electrified.


"I've always had general anxiety, and later cam panic disorder. But it took me many years before I realised there was depression underneath the anxiety. They are the flip side of the same coin. I never identified as depressed, despite the fact that all along there was an ocean of sadness, disappointment, hopelessness, and nothingness inside me. I think the anxiety was a coping mechanism; its heightened sensations, as terrifying as they are, were in some way preferable to me than the depression underneath."


The imagination allowed the mind to be anything,
anything at all.

The white beauty,
retaining its classy personality,
metamorphosed from its vintage form
to an exquisite physique of elegance.

Snap back to reality.
The winding roads seemed never-ending.
The rain was naturally relentless.
Initiate wipers.

Time to have a clear vision
 Time to avoid diversion.

Attention back on the road,
avoiding the curb,
the turns required perceptive quick reflexes
each choice accompanied by an enigma.

 As the tension began towering over,
it was time for the vision to expand.

Scouting for apex point,
observing the spatial distribution of the bend,
ignoring the peripheral distractions,
there was no time to brake.

The throttling didn't stop,
the fender vents couldn't stop the hyperventilation.

 Roaring to go,
 focused on the end point.
The realisation came –
 this was all imaginary.

Fascinated by the lack of brawn,
yet being able to handle the suspension.

The tape player couldn't even work,
but the car radio helped boost confidence.
The air-conditioning switched off on it's own,
but the surge from the transmission was contagious.

Engaged and propelled to reach the end,
the emotional shift gave the right amount of push.

The feeling of suffocation disappeared,
there was no longer a need to hold one's breath.
 Almost at the edge of the seat,
the yellowing chassis made the final turn.

The hardest part was over,
like any other classic endings.

  It might have seemed like a moment of triumph.
Perhaps even a call for celebration.
The roads ahead could be easier to cruise through,
why is there always a need to continue being prepared?

There was always a need to be grounded, on the edge.
It was always about being the best or nothing.


"There were no specific events that triggered the anxiety for me. Rather, the anxiety was always there, floating, looking for something to land on. Any minor event could serve as a seed, which, when nurtured with anxiety, grew into a scary thought. The seed event would ground my fear, rendering it tangible. For someone with anxiety, dramatic situations are, in a way, more comfortable than mundane. In dramatic situations, the world rises to meet your anxiety. When there are no dramatic situations available, you turn into the dramatic."


The light at the end of the tunnel.

That light.
You don't know what it is.

It'll be fast.
You don't get to blink.

It'll be so fast.
You won't know.

Until it hits you.


"I'm not exactly sure why my anxiety chose fire to fixate on, rather than flood, hurricane, earthquake, or other myriad natural disasters. 
From a poetic standpoint, fire depicts passion, sexuality, and a destruction that leads to renewal.
From a nonpoetic standpoint, fire is an easy place for anxiety to live, because it is both a visually striking and painful death."



why do you let me stay here
all by myself?
why don't you come and play here?
i'm just sitting on the shelf.

why don't you sit right down and make me smile?
you make me feel like i am just a child.
why do you edit? just give me credit.
i'm just sitting on the shelf.

sharing some of today's muses:
Melissa Broder – So Sad Today: Personal Essays [Book]
She & Him –  Why do you let me stay here? [Music]


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