My Mind Is Like A House

My mind is like a house. I can visualise it. It is portrayed in many forms.

 

Sometimes the house appears as a familiar structure.

It is a place that radiates comfort when in times of loneliness.

Welcoming. Secure. Impenetrable to intruders.

My thoughts, memories, emotions, and worries all tucked in and orderly upon the shelves in each room.

There is nothing but stillness and tranquillity.

As if I can open the windows and a summer’s breeze will begin to drift through. The aroma of freshly cut grass and daffodils engulfs me.

I can think clearly. Speak clearly. I feel reconnected to myself and the universe.

I feel inspired and grounded.

I feel at home.

 

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But sometimes the house appears as a prison. A devastating sense of entrapment. No means for escape.

Chaos prevails as the sound of my thoughts speak all at once.

They are cluttered, scrambled, cannot be tamed.

The more I attempt to rationalise and control my thoughts, the louder and more powerful they get.

Disorientation occurs. I can no longer think or speak clearly.

I am blind within the darkness.

I feel as though there is an entity pulling me back, consuming me.

As if I am being eaten alive.

I struggle to breathe.

I feel myself begin to spiral.

 

 

Then sometimes the house appears as an empty shell. A symbol of what could have been, should’ve been, once was, or never will be.

It is crumbling and decaying from the inside out.

Nothing but the remnants of lost thoughts, memories, and time echo throughout the vacant structure. At times causing it to shudder and creek.

The dust slowly begins to cling to me, and over time, wears me down.

The walls begin to crumble and I cant recognise the danger.

There is no longer a sense of reality.

Complete disassociation to the world around me.

The longer I stay here, the more I feel myself disintegrating.

 

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What is stopping me from burning it all to the ground?