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girl,window-85a648484a67e3d17ada59ab7cdbec29_hAfter years of angst and purposeful disappointment, I finally opened myself to the possibility of contentment and found myself finally home.

There are few times in my life that I literally don’t have a topic to write about. Consider my personality, my mental illness, my simple need to learn about who and what I am and you find yourself with a large amount of raw data to discuss. The complex and sometimes intricate details that flow through my head at the rate of a sixty second mile ensures that I can find something to discuss that day.

Then there are the days that my brain is simply quiet. It used to be that these days would cause fear and somewhat morbid excitement in anticipation of all that might come next; sort of a calm before a storm. But these days, either because of age or hopefully wisdom, that anticipation and even the easy belief that something is about to happen is gone. Is it because nothing will happen?

I don’t know. All I know is that on the days that my brain is silent I find myself watching TV and mulling around the house like a cat without a purpose. When my brain is engaged I can run like the wind, getting chores done, writing prose that sometimes capture the minds of my dear readers, and basically either recreate Shelley’s descriptive Frankenstein, or become Little Miss Sunshine – the transformation is rapid if not a bit scary.

Days of quiet mind reminds me most that not everyone feels the way that I do on a daily basis. It reminds me that people do get bored in their own minds and they do find solace in the mundane. It reminds me that the excitement of something unexpected is usually welcomed, and something expected is of no importance. Days of quiet mind reminds me that the normalcy we all strive for is attainable for the masses, but for my often verbose mind it is nothing but boredom. I wonder how the world lives like this.

It makes me want to stop taking the pills for a moment just so I can feel the comfort of my own voices in my own mind. It makes me want to go out and radically change my world in some grand gesture to show that I am not only this woman. It makes me want to scream that not only is there nothing to say in my mind but there is nothing to say in any other part of my self either. There are parts of me that hate the stillness.

I know as surely as I know my name that there will come another day when I will bow down to the Goddess of Chaos – because chaos can only be a true and beautiful woman – and continue the journey of insanity that I dearly need. I know there will be a day when I will look out my window and wonder about the fall and there will be a day when I look in the mirror and die a little inside. I know as surely as I know that tomorrow will come that I will fail in the minds of those who love me even as I reveal in the struggle of tempting fruit of my mind. I will enjoy the battle and look forward to the death.

I can not find comfort in days of ease. I can not sleep easily in times of quiet. I need the power of my own mental destruction to feel safe. I need my darkness, I need my chaos, I need my own demons to keep me sane. Because while the world may find my demons the essence of insanity, to me they are simply friends that keep the reality at bay. They are my life partners, my pleasures, my grand gestures that make it possible to live in a world so bleak, so destructive, so bloody upon itself.

I will fly again. Until that day, I will sit in my contentment and simply wait for those tea cups to begin spinning again.