Last I properly wrote was in January 2016. We are nearing the end of June and I think its time I let go of my confusions for what they are: mere confusions.
You see, I was overcome by this grave flood of new priorities: work and studies, leaving me with no time to tend to my new peeves about writing and self. It was not always like this. When I had started writing, it was not so much about quality, rather the joy of expressing. But alas, adulthood hit and hit hard. The new insecurities that came with it were far worse, far complex than I was maybe prepared to mentally take on. Cutting me off at my knees and throwing me into a spiral. A revolution of the mind was demanded and I did not know how to cope with it. We are for most part of our childhood left at the mercy of adults, this transition from childhood to adulthood becomes excruciating when there's a demand of rewiring your thoughts according to this new, more independent life style. We are suddenly expected from, are to deliver by and be something concrete.
Wallahi, it is not easy.
I had begun asking existential questions. I do not know if it is just me but I think as adults, we are more scared of vulnerability than we would like to admit to. Children in this case are fierce beings. To boil it down to a sentence:
I had become a prisoner of my own mind.
It is a dark place to be in. Just you in your own mind. And while writing and meditating had been for long, modes for me to release the tensions, with time becoming too little with age, the problem got too big to handle.
For now, I've decided to sell my soul to this peculiar phase of confusion. I do want to admit to this decision as being rationale, but I'd resort myself to honesty and admit it as nothing but the only choice left for me at the moment.
Here's to not knowing shit and constant rewiring of my brain.