The Poison Inside

"I need to get it together already. How long am I going to be this weak?" After a lifetime of survival and learning to enjoy the bare minimum, one's light becomes dim. The body soon follows, becoming more and more comfortable with safety. Growth is essential for survival, isn't it? Actually, no. Growth is an adaptation arising from stress. Stress arises from mortal threats.

Even in the presense of threats, the oblivious creature is easy prey. Stress is a product of perception. Most drugs only dull the senses. So what makes us get hopelessly addicted? Why would an animal purposefully stick its head in the ground? Well, life isn't all it's cracked up to be. Most creatures do not really wish to survive, but are simply going through the motions. 

There might be a greater, unconscious will to reproduce, but it's driven by the bottom line, indifferent to the peaks and valleys. The conscious is more sharp, focused, and meticulous. It cares too much about everything all the time. It runs too fast and burns too bright before shutting down and crashing hard. Poison can calm it down and lay it to rest. 

With time, the numbness itself becomes comfortable, instead of the poison. The beauty of darkness lies in the safety of inaction. Better to die and crush yourself before life does it to you. Even in the poison's absense, the creature learns to produce its own. Its thoughts, actions, emotions, and senses, every fibre of its being aligns to seek safety.

This is not some horribly suffocating, inescapable fate or glitch. It's a beautifully elegant and infinitely wise mechanism that ensures one stays in the game long enough to get lucky. It seems like a problem because even in a heavenly garden, the creature feels sick and unable to fully rest. Nothing wishes to live its entire life with poison in its veins if it can help it.

Yet, both the systems comprise one and the same thing: the magical oneness of all existence. Its magic lies in its slipperiness. After all, a trick is only fun with some mystery to it. As such, every creature simultaneously carries the cure and the wonderfully concrete illusion of choice. You can only enjoy a hard choice when you feel like you've made it happen.

And so, when the pull of safety and security becomes suffocating, the poisonous thoughts begin to emerge. They play the wistful requiem of utter defeat on repeat, looping numbness in downward spirals. These so-called demons emerge so deeply from the unconsious, they seem terrifyingly haunting and supernatural. 

Nevertheless, the conscious mind pulls in the opposite direction, whispering visions of angelic voices, "You get to reinvent yourself. Just let it all be, and flow effortlessly. Should you choose to accept it, the world is your oyster, an endless playground of colorful treasures. It's all right there for the taking." 

All it takes is the courage to believe. That terrifyingly horrible truth, that life comes from you, not the other way around. That you were never the passive observer you strove to be. It's just too tempting to lobotomise yourself, especially when it's so easy. When poison can flow at the touch of a button, we all can turn into tyrants.

It's tiresome and difficult to accept, that life in all its horrors was always meant to be. That we play these extreme games and seek such violent turmoil, when we could all just sit and simply be. Who wants to take responsibility for atrocities? Who wishes to take the perilous journey inside and unearth the roots of evil?

It all just becomes too much. So we seek comfort and peace. Even that is part of the puzzle. Even that, is deemed worthy of heaven. It's all permitted, open to choice, and deemed acceptable by reality. So be who you are, whatever that may be, and let everyone else be who they are too. 

Comfort, numbness, pleasure, and safety will always be within reach. As I grow weary of their entransing spell, I find only turmoil in peace, and yearn for painful defeat. An embrace is not a single act, but a promise of a fruitful pact. I once was abandoned and that became the source of my own poison.

Running away became second nature, as my inner knots turned into sutures. Let sleeping dogs lie, and festering rot hide. There is no possibile victory, so assure your own defeat. These sickeningly toxic ideas call me their home, coming out in tears. Can poison ever become the cure? Is it something to work toward?

The toughest truths never go down easy. You can't tackle disease without feeling queasy. When trying, crying, and effort fails, lean into the fear, walk through the haze. This is the true meaning of courage. To fail and hurt without getting discouraged. The beauty of faithful belief and action, will set you free from constant dying. 

That's what my angels sing to me today. Just do your best and forget the rest. The demons will keep rearing their ugly heads. You will fail to act and need some rest. The pain will wash away conviction, and leave you weak with want for treason. Death and destrustion you will always crave, until you simply start to behave.

It's all about getting lost in the process. To take a step, slip, and scrape your knees. Eventually, you will surely be free. "I want to live to the fullest. I want to feel and act with purpose. No longer do I want to preemptively give in. I don't want to lose, I want to win. I get to give it my all and move forward. No matter how hard, no matter if I'm a coward."

Only cowards can show true courage. Now, go, simply start moving forward. Soon you will need no sloggish horrors. Earn your rest and feel your best. A mere coward could never be so honest. Step by step, you will find your light. Every scar will heal inside. Bravery, growth, and honour awaith thee, victory will come, and you will be ready.