Frog

I sit here in front of my computer. It's late and feeling like I can't find words. I feel empty inside and compassionless. The words don't come, and I can't find meaning. I am losing hope...and strength. I feel like a flower drooping, its petals falling one by one. The vibrancy is vanishing and the color fades. I thirst for something I can't see...for something I can't feel. I long for touch deep within my soul. For my spirit to become revived. I don't see it. I feel like something deep within has become distanced. Is it my change in medications? Medications that cause numbness, dissociation, distance and disconnectedness. The affective portion of my illness. A personality due to an adjustment in your brain that affects the mind, so I behave in a certain way. So, I don't have outbursts of euphoria. So, the depression becomes suspended in mid-air or rather mid-thought. Just waiting to drop. I just can't adhere to my illnesses. At times I still feel denial. I don't want to feel this way. I don't like feeling this way. I am reminded of 'frog'. An acronym for Forever Rely on God. But I'm not relying on him. I am not trusting him. I am not revering him. I am unstable.

What is stability anyway? Is it liking a lantern? Promising to point the way? Only to be snuffed out? Maybe I am hiding my light? This dismal presence is attacking me. Wanting to devour me. But I won't let it. I refuse to cave. I seek solace somewhere else. Deep within a reservoir hidden, unabridged, ready...and waiting. Like a castle, beautiful and majestic but once inside the vast walls are cold and calloused from time.

I feel like I should be closing this thought with some huge and grand message. But maybe the message is in the little. The small ways. The ways that count and touch the lives of the everyday. Is that mundane? Is that enough? Am I willing to sacrifice my privilege to evoke grand gestures for something that...well...maybe only has meaning for one? There is power in the pen. To a certain point. The point where you decide for yourself if the thoughts on a page replicate your life, steal you away or lacking motivation for more than a candle snuffed out. You decide. Decide the worth. The power. The prose. What does frog mean to you?

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A Journey Through the Mind of Schizophrenia

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