Define Insanity

Define Insanity

A Poem by Kit
"

some venting turned artistic

"

Sometimes i think im insane.

I think sometimes I'm just not right in my head.

I mean, what makes me do what i do.

What the hell goes on in my brain when i unleash the horrible pent up anger that has built up inside. They say the insane don't know their insane, is that true? And do insane people ask themselves over and over if they are mad, the way I do and never come up with a solid 'yes".
They say the definition of insanity is repeating something over and over again expecting different results. So then I must be insane, because I try over and over again to make him see what is it that hurts me or bothers me and it never seems to make a difference, neither of us is ever satisfied. I feel like he doesn't really care because what I say doesn't make sense to him. All I accomplish is making us both angry and upset instead of just me. 
So why don't I keep my mouth shut?

I don't know.

Is that a part of being insane too, being unable to contain the words and thoughts in your head? Feeling like, if you don't say something you'll go up in a conflagration of anger, hurt and disappointment. Sometimes I bite my tongue so hard I bleed, and even tear up because of the pain. And after winning the battle of containing the fire of my fury I feel scorched on the inside.
Is it just in my fate or destiny to not be understood by him, to be the one that makes him and myself suffer? That's all I feel I do anymore, is make us suffer. I suffer with my anger, both trying to express it and failing and trying to keep it contained. 
My chest is the dark rolling sea of storm clouds and my anger is lighting, striking out to show my anger with a flash of destruction, the thunder being the slamming of my heart on my ribcage with fury. And then the predictable coming of rain are my tears when I've realized I've upset him and the shame that his anger is directed towards me simply because I could not contain the storm. The longer I try to the contain it, the more the raging storm builds until I feel I will explode with it and cast ruin upon the world.
And after the rage, the inability to truly express myself to be understood, has escaped, there is nothing but the cold emptiness of regret. As though the storm has passed but weary clouds wonder drearily across the sky to deny the world of the sun.
Or maybe I am a volcano that finally bursts with fury to destroy everything in its path. No, more like the tatonic plates, the building of pressure released, causing mountains to spurt red hot liquid like the mouths of dragons, and the earth to quake as if trembling with its rage. The sea roils up like a great fist to hammer at the coast that it has embraced since the beginning of time.
I encounter all this when confronted with my own anger, an ire sometimes I feel can not be explained. Do I create my own wrath, and if so is that insanity? When I am miserable is it simply that I become angry and unleash it upon others so that I will not be alone in my misery.
It must be. Thus the bitter content that wells up when I am no longer the only one to suffer. And I feel as if I am better able to cope with my roiling emotions when others have felt them and become affected. My shared anger is like a stone cast into a still pond, the ripples affecting the entire surface, and only when the center has calmed with the rest slowly become docile again.
All I want is for him to understand why I get upset at the things he says or does, or even the lack there of. And though I repeat myself like the constant caw of ravens it seems not to affect him. 
Would it be better if we were just separated, and then at least I would be alone in my misery and he at least would be happy with life, having little responsibility and able to do what he desires.
And although I know he could live on happily without me and find some other who would annoy him less and care not what he did or when, I would perish. My misery would eat away at me like a rot until my suffering became too much and eternal darkness looked much sweeter than an existence of agony. And loneliness is an agony.
I have tasted it, bitter on my tongue like the tears on my lips, as inescapable as the sun at its zenith on an endless savanna. It rips tears from your eyes until the ducts there are as dry as the cracked ground created by drought. The aching of your heart resonates through the body, carried to the very tips of extremities by blood that should be carrying oxygen. The world becomes an inescapable cold, and no amount of clothes or fire could ever warm you.
The moon embodies loneliness seeming all the more pale and dreary since I have flourished in the bright warm rays of sunlight that is love.
Where once it was easy to smile and laugh, now I feel as if the muscles that once carried those simple functions are no more. Or that your brain simply no longer comprehends them.
Is that insanity? Could depression, caused by the horrible addiction of love, be just another form of insanity, as the branch is of the same tree?
All this caused not truly by love alone but by the man who instills the emotion in me. My addiction to him, that runs thick and blissfully through my veins, is as powerful and as pure opium crystals and just as deadly. Without him, I diminish. I wilt as any flower thirsty for water. And as water, he gives life to me. And like the drug, attempting to part from it is nearly impossible and will create the beginning of the end for me.
And so I must be insane. Completely mad, as mad as the man who inserts the needle into his arm to deposit the poison willingly into his vein. For I, just as the man, am completely and eternally unwilling and unable to quit the habit.
Instead of the deterioration of his heath, the man expects his body to remain whole and unblemished. I expect eternal and never-ending happiness, my life to be infused with nothing but perfection because of love. We both are expecting the impossible. That is simply not how the world works and it never will, just as the sun will never rise in the west and fall in the east.
While I might consider myself insane, utterly mad because of love and the way it angers me, I will remain so eternally, for the simple yet unexplainable reason that my life depends on it. And thus there lies the undying, bittersweet irony of fate at it cruelest

© 2008 Kit


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There is an old Roman saying, translated in modern English would say: "If they want to get you, they will say you're mad!" Your story reminded me so much of this proverb. Indeed, when love is not returned, it is a frustrating situation for one keeps on sending stimuli that are not returned. But, being persistent is part of the whole thing, so.....Keep on loving and ignore the maddening!

Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

nice one do read mine too "QUEST OF LIFE".

Posted 8 Years Ago


I really liked this because i often wonder the same things sometimes.








amazing.

Posted 9 Years Ago


Funny I just saw this cause i was reading something else on the subject and commenting... these standards by "society" seems to determine your mental health, well who the hell is society, personally I'd rather be insane and enjoy life.... now as for a couple things in you piece, you are not insane by trying to repeat something to get it right, hell in that case every athlete would be insane cause they practice over and over to get their skill right... and trying to get your loved one to see what hurts you is by no means insane that is called communication which is needed for a relationship to survive. Oh and not knowing when to keep your mouth shut isn't insane either that's what we call freedom of expression in fact I think those that don't take advantage of that privilage are the insane ones... anyways just some thoughts on the matter... excellent wrtie by the way.

Posted 11 Years Ago


I think this piece is saying more that you'll probably take credit for...and speaks in your favor. You're honesty is very endearing. You see, to me, being angry doesn't = insanity (as long as it's not terribly destructive). You are only guilty what all human beings are made to do: FEEL.

Anyway...it's a great piece. I can't wait to read more of your poetry!!!!

-Anarda Nashai
author of Despondent
Check out my new website at:
www.anardanashai.webs.com

Posted 11 Years Ago


the only insanity is staying in a situation that crushes your very soul. And we all do it - but as for your post, your feelings....though chaotic...they are not unwarranted or insane.

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

There is an old Roman saying, translated in modern English would say: "If they want to get you, they will say you're mad!" Your story reminded me so much of this proverb. Indeed, when love is not returned, it is a frustrating situation for one keeps on sending stimuli that are not returned. But, being persistent is part of the whole thing, so.....Keep on loving and ignore the maddening!

Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

And thus there lies the undying, bittersweet irony of fate at it cruelest

you summed everything i was feeling from your work eith that line......and thank you because i believe i have a name for what ails me......you would call it insanity

Posted 11 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.


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Added on April 12, 2008

Author

Kit
Kit

Cave Junction, OR



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~*~*~*~*~*~*~ FRIENDS PLEASE READ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ I know I have not been on much since all our stuff got deleted, I haven't even reposted all my writing. I wanted to let you all know why. Most of you .. more..

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