Wild and complex and evil and glorious
And one small fact could kill you
The imagination is a big sky. My imagination has been taken off the rails. I am pondering the unknown in ways that scare me. I can’t sleep. I dream of what I think about in the daytime, and it presents itself to me in symbols that stick with me long into the waking hours. I’ve had to cut off certain avenues of research because the possibilities they suggest in my crazy brain are so scary they make normal life impossible. What they call paranoia has reached ((sky highs)) in me, if you’ll allow the pun. I’ve tricked myself out with my own mind and am using an antidote of Indigo Girls and Hallmark Movies, safe videos I’ve watched before, safe texts, safe people on Twitter.
If you really think about it, there are ropes which loop back to make circles of logic—and those are ok. But there are ropes in this world—frayed strings—which do not loop back to form a circle, and when one encounters facts that shape themselves in these senseless loop-less forms, if you have the kind of big sky imagination that can fill in the gaps with handfuls of theories, then reduce the theories to those more and more likely, this world stops being a place that makes sense in the way that most people think.
People’s sense of what’s well is even informed by their sense of what’s crazy. But what’s crazy has been engineered to give us our sense of safety, and if you widen the net of your research and narrow, with a smart mind, your theories that explain the unclosed loops, this world stops being safe at all and there’s almost no place to rest, psychologically. Occam’s razor is wrong. The world is wild and complex and evil and glorious such that one small fact about it could kill you.
This is me on medication, uninterrupted, for years.
I don’t think I even know anyone I can talk to about what’s in my mind anymore.