Life is not fair.

I started writing a post about the fairness of life back in October. I fought with myself forever, attempting to come to a conclusion... so, I stopped. I stopped worrying about it, and I stopped trying to understand. It has almost been 6 months, and now I am here to finish.

Is life fair? In the moment of pain, sadness, anger, or heartbreak we all have said the simple phrase that seems to make the most sense "Life is not fair."
I have fallen short, and have been been quick to judge the world, instead of looking to myself for the blame.
Life is a journey, and by no means is it easy.

But let me tell you something...life is not fair.

Maybe things are the way they are just because everything is what it is- but that makes it no easier. What is really unfortunate and very unfair though, is our unwillingness to help one another. We are all in this world, and we all have to suffer- and for you to ignore that simple fact is selfish. Who are you to say you suffer more than the next person? We all have a mountain to climb, and we each climb it at different speeds, but it is our job to ensure that everyone reaches the top.

Life is not fair, and maybe a small part of you can take refuge in that. The world is not out to get you, so you can't let self destruction ruin you.

Self pity will radiate arrogance.

Love, and be loved.
Happy spring.

Nothing.

It is not our light that scares us.
For what is light?
Light to us is sunrises, sunsets, light bulbs for late nights.
There can be stark light, dull light, flickering light, fading light.
It is the flutter of your heart as your lover leaves his warming position.
Light can also be a revelation.
Are you scared of revelations? Perhaps.
If you had to choose between knowing everything about someone you loved before you decided to marry them, would you? Or would you rather have the unexpected?

Light can be blinding.
It is always honest.
Sometimes brutally so.
Yet after you after you have found light, you never turn away.
We seek comfort in light.

So do we fear darkness?
Do you truly fear that fast void within your head, your head, your bones?
Do you truly fear the cover of your blankets, the shadow of your love?

So then, what do we fear?

Some fear the static. The grey. In there all the colours we have been too afraid to find can be found. There, the shadows and limits of dawn and dusk seclude themselves from our ever-analytical minds. Others thrive here, within the hair-thin cusps between reality and insanity.

We fear invisibility -
of ourselves,
of reality,
of truth.
We fear, ironically enough, the most harmless thing of all.

Nothing.

It is not our darkness that scares us, it is our light.

Word Salad.

I scratch at the indentations of my elbows, trying to rub off the tiny little bed bugs that nested there. There were always there. Whether I looked at them or not, they were there - tiny little red dots with pincers that itched my skin. So I rubbed them, looking around me while the walls swam and Mary whispered in my ear, "It would all go away Paul if you stopped rubbing. Then the little bugs would go into your blood and eat through your head until there were these big holes in it. Like Swiss cheese Paul. You like Swiss cheese." But even if I stopped, I knew that they would never go in - no. They were here, always here. Along with my swimming walls with the wet paint. They were a comfort of mine, always here.
The man in the soup pajamas wore a banana hat - but I hated that banana hat. Or was it a hat? No matter - he always called me Henry. But I'm Mary The Rational, everyone knew that. Even Paul and Frank and well everyone. Yesterday I painted the walls red with my fingertips so Paul would stop complaining about the paint swimming. I love to sing about the goats climbing on clouds with the stuffed spiders polkaing on the crescent of the moon. It's nice because you can change the melody every time. I like melodies - I also like the girl with fenced teeth and the smock. She's nice.
Today the assistant - Patricia with the braces - came in asking me my name. I hate that woman. Every time she comes in and asks me for my fucking name. I think she would have figured out who the hell I am by now. I mean, she's here almost every fucking day. It's Frank - I tell her. I want to strangle that bitch - watch the veins pulse with every antagonizing second. And then that crack of her neck... ohh. But no. I sit here, watching her flaunt that lovely figure while she asks me if I had heard from Paul or Mary and when I expected Henry to come back because she needed to talk to him .... and I sit here nodding flexing my fingers looking at her pretty white little neck. What a pity.
Breathe in, breathe out. I feel the little blue core inside of me light up my spine, open my cerebral cortex. Open my mind, embrace it. Envelop the darkness from whence I came. That little blue ball of light in the core. Feel time loop, stop, go backwards. Breathe in, breathe out. I am freeing myself from my identity. I am insignificant, lost. Let the Buddha envelop me. I am Raphael, a tiny speck in this nebula. Feel it. Embrace it. Breathe in, breathe out.
I sit huddled in the corner of this cramped cell. I've lost track of time a long while back. My fingers are marred to the bone. Somebody told me that I had drawn on the walls with blood. Something about goats and spiders, they said. It doesn't matter. It's cold down here, it's been ages since I've had a cigarette. Or anything else for that matter. The doctors even took me off my meds for a while, to see how - tragic - the symptoms truly are. But even now, even with the meds, I can feel them. Mary, Raphael, Frank, Paul. They're all here - smiling, encouraging me. I love them all. They've never left me since the beginning of this ordeal. Not once.
I'm afraid of when the doctors finally get it right.

Who will I be then?