A Heavy Mind — A Necessary Chapter I Refuse to Die In…

Note: I’ve had two major chapters in my life. (So far)

And life becomes so immersed, it shocks us how deep we are into something that we never thought we would give in to.

I’m determined to not die here.

The first chapter was fast and chaotic and kind of archaic…as it tends to be when learning to adult as a young man. My naivety and the lack of social expectation to be “figured out” made the world very light in which to hold. I had a lot of fun in the bliss of just living. But fun without learning, without taking on responsibility, started to make me very anxious.

The second chapter, the one I’m in now, has been very solitary and ruminating. It has given me the chance to think more than act and try to understand what all of this world has to offer. I’ve found wisdom as well as mental growth. But mental growth doesn’t determine mental health.

There is a world, both within us and outside of us.

It can be pretty damaging to live just from the one within.

And as I’ve questioned too much, and lived too little, I’ve found that I am in need of a recalibration.

A heavy mind, to me, is made by an “unheavy” life.

It can become a black hole if we linger too long.

…

It’s heavy.

This mind, made up of the infinity of trails and possibilities. As heavy as it is for Atlas himself holding up the heavens.

It makes my breath short. Stunted.

Desperation made by unrelieved pressure and static.

I lie tortured because of the unspoken, the ill expressed, the undone.

So where does heaven exist?

Somewhere outside of me, I think.

It’s something I have no words for, no purpose for. And maybe it can’t be labeled, articulated, determined useful, but at least it’s something formed and functional, instead of searing and tearing at the inside of me.

Molded without intended function maybe, but still here to do what it will.

It always will.

At least it’s out.

At least now I can see it for what it is, and give relief to my soul and body.

…

The question is, do I need to escape it now?

Is it meant to be left behind, folded into itself, forgotten?

Have I lingered too long, and thought too hard?

Did I create this?

Does it exist because of my inability to fight it, to dissolve it, to remove it from its chosen resting place?

Does it draw in, swallow, and devour because of the gravity made by my frozen awe and revelry?

Does it pull me in because of its enchantment? It’s expanding nothingness? My curiosity made by its unknown?

Does it threaten to shroud me in darkness forever if I can’t release myself from its heavy and intoxicating hold?

…

Thinking can be a dangerous place.

Especially in a world promoting entertainment rather than adventure, where we sit and watch instead of move to live.

I think it’s hard to determine mental health just by analysis of self.

As much as I’ve tried…

The more I’ve dived in, the more I’ve found truths about myself, of course. Dirty, disgusting, shameful truths. Not everything I’ve found has done me good.

All the ruminating and romanticizing built to find my way, only to find myself more lost.

There’s something very deceiving about a heavy, thoughtful mind:

We make up worlds that we later get to follow through on…or sabotage.

We decide every day whether to make our vision a truth or a lie.

And the truth is always to act, to speak, to test our visions.

The lie is always actionless.

…

I’m starting to wonder if the romance of life, the one we strive for, is really in the unexpected rather than the planned. The courage of facing the unknown because that’s the definition of romantic. The outside chaos rather than the inside order.

Maybe what makes us great (not perfect) humans is just doing.

Thinking only when necessary to process our problems and mistakes.

…

This second chapter I live in is starting to decay.

I feel its edges.

I smell its heaviness.

I see it’s age.

I’ve realized how much I’ve gained in this stage, but also how much I’ve lost. The mind is a playground of visions and stories, acknowledgement and enlightenment.

But I’ve used it as a blanket. A cellar to lock myself in to keep safe. So much so, I’m far less flexible, energetic, and inspired.

I shut off my mind and body to others, and found a new battle to fight:

How to get back out.

And I’m not sure where to step first, to be honest.

But, isn’t that the point?

…

Even a Garden of Eden can become a prison.

Away from our responsibilities, our connections, our uncomfortable but very necessary challenges that make us grow.

Creating a healthy mind doesn’t mean isolating yourself in it.

Truth and Love, Reader.

…

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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