Waking Up.

It's like I've been sleeping - dreaming - and I've finally broke free of my unconcious wishes to find that nothing is here. . . the golds and riches I thought that I held firmly in my dreams are nigh, the simplicity and joy of life like light is found not within sight. In the darkness I sit up, and my mind is in a fog. I can't help but look around and cringe, and then the anger rips through me. Not the anger you can surpress or deny, but the kind that rips you open seam to seam, leaving you shaking and foaming at the mouth. In the middle of the night, I find myself, and I hate who I've become. For so long I've wrapped my heart inside my logic, and it seems now my heart is lost in bandages of fantasy: unconcious, unreal, ideals of who I should be at this point in my life. I've posioned myself, I've over-ruled my emotions for so long that all that is left is the anger that comes from knowing I'm not who I should have been, who I should be at this very moment. And there is no compassion. I am ruled by my mind, by these sick unrealistic dreams I've been dreaming and living. I will never add up.