Question 13:- What does your madness taste like? The dark asylum in your chest nobody’s visited. Have you explored it? (How) does it reflect in your writing? Are you ever afraid of touching insanity with the tip of your fingers and never being able to come back? Of dying? Disappearing? Forgetting or being forgotten? What are your nightmares of the soul, your unspoken ghosts? What makes you shiver in the middle of the night? What is the ugliest part if you, of the world, of life as seen through your glasses? Describe and stay with this darkness for a few minutes. Face it head on and remind yourself that this too, shall pass.
I trust in the darkness, therefore I do not fear it. There are no surprises, the light however.. That is what I fear because there are no guarantees in the light. But in the dark? The darkness is simply the absence of light.
I would not describe it as tasting of death, for I have not died and therefore can’t imagine it… But what I will say for now.. Is it tastes of fire. Scorching hot white, yellow and red flames that is never put out.
There is nothing more comforting than the brutal and honest thud of when you hit rock bottom. There is nothing more graceful than the roar of thunder from within you, the agonizing realization of what has come to pass, then comes the rage, ache, and finally the calming emptiness, despair and loneliness that engulfs you before you even know it. There is a sweet serenity in losing your breath and drowning in your own silence and sorrows.
It is almost poetic; and quite frankly, strangely predictable.
The only question is time.
I believe in the maddening beauty that is writing. I believe in the hunger and lust to create, the barbarism and savagery of perfection; the torture and destructive nature of what it means to be human. I suppose for me writing is not only therapeutic but a vain attempt at remembrance. A reminder to those that cared of who and what I was.
We live in an age where those responsible for inflicting pain on others are no longer held in contempt but rather admired; admired for speaking and acting out freely, whilst those persecuted are ridiculed for what is foreseen as weakness. Freedom of speech is now hailed as an act of patriotism, with no remorse to the repercussion and damage it may inflict.
We live freely, but are we truly free? Slaves to our words and that of others, more like it.
Question 14:- Let’s come back to the light. What makes you come alive? What makes it worth the fight, the effort and the sweat? What things, people, situations, activities, moments of joy – that have nothing to do with writing – give you the strength, hope and courage to keep alchemizing the world into words, even if it’s not the easiest, most comfortable, or most “efficient” occupation? What/who do you love? What/who makes you be in heaven for at least a few infinite minutes?
Hope, Faith, Patience and a handful of the worlds most amazing family members, and fabulous best friends a gal could ask for.
Also, the moment I hear someone say, “Oh” from something I may have written or a thought I randomly shared. The courage to keep going in another human being gives me the strength to take my next breath, and the one after that, and the one after that.
The giving of one human being to another is about the only thing that keeps this world spinning.