Insanity Laughs, Under Pressure We’re Breaking

Insanity is defined by some as doing the same things over and over and expecting different results.

So why is it that doing different things over and over is making me insane?

I write to get things out of me and onto the page. I thought that it would save me, by taking feelings and crises and anxiety and fear and heartbreak and suffering out of me, but it only makes me forget. I actually have written hundreds of poems and other things, and I don’t remember writing a great many of them. They’re just as new to me as they are to you. I post some of them for that reason, especially if they seem to fit my mood or circumstance right then.

I often don’t remember how I felt when I wrote them, but that’s fine. There’s no reason why I can’t interpret my poems differently now than when I wrote them, just as everyone else does. There’s no reason why what I wrote before has to mean the same thing to me now as it did then. Right?

But then again, why wouldn’t it mean the same? If a poem is a snapshot in time, how can time pass for it? How can a poem age, and morph in meaning, tone and impact, while it’s just sitting there on a hard drive or a page, happily communing with other poems?

It’s because I’m changing. I’m finding out more things about myself, and uncovering things I had buried that I didn’t know were there. This uncovering, unearthing precious yet damaged artifacts, is being caused by an earthquake in my soul. A fault line, unmistakable.

One side is my life right now, how it is, unfulfilling, numb, repetitive, often cruel and harsh. I feel drained, and I fill myself up and get drained again. I am drained so much by life right now that I must get away from people and recharge quite often. Nothing is satisfying, nothing makes me happy, and life is meaningless.

The other side is where I could be, what I strive to be, my potential, happiness, contentment, ambitions realized, goals met, love requited, perpetual mutual support.

These two plates slide and grind past each other, causing shockwaves I feel perpetually, and causing damage I feel exquisitely. If this isn’t resolved, I fear part of me will simply crack and break off, and slide into the ocean, sinking into the abyss, the inky depths consuming me.

This isn’t a very uplifting thought for a man who wants to live forever.

This pressure builds up constantly, and I can feel it. Is that anxiety? Probably. Here’s the plot twist to this story: I think there are events, feelings and trauma that have happened to me that I have written in dark corners of my mind and left there, buried, aging just like my poems, and they’ve been there so long I don’t even remember experiencing them, don’t remember writing them, don’t remember burying them, don’t remember them at all, as though they happened to someone else, as though someone else wrote them. In many cases, I’m discovering, there is tangible evidence they have occurred, yet I still feel like they couldn’t be true, they must not be true. I had to have read about them, or heard about them, right?

It’s an odd sensation, the feeling that someone else has written your autobiography. Clearly insanity has more than one definition. Wouldn’t you say?



42 thoughts on “Insanity Laughs, Under Pressure We’re Breaking”

            1. I owe you an apology. You were being supportive, and I was feeling sorry for myself. I want you to know that I felt your support and care. Thank you, deeply. I appreciate it. ❤


  1. This is really interesting, I was having a conversation with a friend recently about the definition of insanity…it’s been so on my mind. My heart hurts for you, this struggle! You’ve brought up serious things, Ward, buried trauma and events. So when you said you were okay, that was relative? How are things today? I’m sorry you feel so drained, I have been there…on a lighter note, there needs to be more vacation time in the US!
    But you are not alone. If that’s any consolation.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. You are most welcome. You are a kind person and it makes me sad to think that you are going through this. I think it’s good you’ve articulated it, and you should keep sharing your examining, if you can/will to.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Wow… I don’t entirely know how to say this, which is weird. Anyway, I feel like I wrote this, even though I did not write this. It’s as if you snuck in my brain, rooted around, and stole my underwear. I have been feeling like the more I write, the more I realize I have no idea what I do not know. I was just telling my friend today that, in many ways, my own blog is my favorite, because I get to remember shit I had forgotten from only a few weeks/months ago. I am trying to remember so much; I feel as though I am building a pyramid and as I get closer to the top layer, I realize that I somehow forgot the bottom. Like Wile E. Coyote, I see my missing bottom, and everything falls apart. I get to trudge back up the layers, reliving it all again.

    Insanity is enslavement – building faulty pyramids perpetually :/ At least they’re beautiful!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This is something I’m discovering, too. I have only recently started to suspect and then uncover things from my past that I had buried so well, I had successfully forgotten about them. Then, thinking about them, and how I used to feel for people because my life wasn’t that bad. Except… Was it?

      I know other people have been through what I’m going through now. Normally by the time they write a blog, they’re well on their way. I’ve been writing constantly for 5 years, and only now am I starting on this.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Same here. I still struggle with that. I argue with myself all of the time. It’s why I “stay here” so often, and write – either to deal or distract, depending on the day. (holy d’s!) I swear to God though, dude, every damn time I think “okay, okay. I’m good! I got this.” I or something else shits the bed. I deal with it better every time though, even if it’s .05 out of a hundred, it’s .05 more than last time. I’ve also really accepted that as gaps get filled, it only happens when I am strong enough to fill them. It’s painful stuff, and I use the “down time” (as I call it) to build up as many good habits and perspectives that I can use to coax myself back on the path. I’m so very glad you began this. You are worth it.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My writing was just superficial, in retrospect, until recently. Just descriptions of feelings I had at that moment, positive or negative. Like believing I’m writing my autobiography, and discovering I’ve just been writing chapter titles.

      You’re right. Better is better, no matter how incremental. I’m glad I began. Thank you for that last line. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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