Fighting the tide, and spider feet.

Tired of it.

Tired of the instability, riding out the mood swings.  

I'm tired of chasing off the demons.  I run, swinging wildly at some hell-bats winging at me in the night, swinging, swung from a broomstick.  Gotta turn the tide somehow.  Got caught in that riptide and now I'm swimming toward the shore with all my might.  I want the tide to come back in.  It sucked me so far out this time I can't see the shore and the waves just keep washing over and over and over and over.

I'm over it. 

The version of me that is happy, happy-go-lucky.  The version of me that I remember is wasting away on the shoreline like sand through my hourglass shape.  

I feel like I'm losing my grip.  Like I'm going to get lost in the ugly confusion of my visions and that's all I'll be.  It's harder and harder to follow the story.  I lose track of it.  

I remember going round and round in the circle of my own consciousness.  I remember the cycle of becoming and realizing and knowing in that instant I was dying, and sometimes I feel like I am still there, laying on my bed dying and this is the last of my consciousness living a life in my mind as the real me is breathing my last breath.  

It makes me choke, to think about it.

Then I remember that I'm thinking too much and not to do that anymore.  Have to be grounded, keep it together.  Follow the story.

Its this depressive rumination that will get me down - thinking about thinking.  I can think all I want, but it won't explain my being.  This solipsistic navel-gazing doesn't make me any more or less loved.

I remember knowing  -knowing- that the thing that would save me is how much I am loved.  That I would save others because of how much I am loved.  Strip me down to my core belief and that's what I get. 

Don't fight it - let the ocean carry you.  Swim parallel to the shore you know, keep going in the same direction and sometime soon you'll realize the water wasn't all that deep anyway.

You'll put your little feet down and find them in the soft sand.  The waves won't tumble you anymore, the visions won't be full of spiders, they'll be full of flower petals.  

Spider feet are tapping, soft and gentle.  I let them crawl right in my mouth and fall asleep.  I breathe in a whole lungful of water and breathe it back out.  Maybe I'll find I can even sing, underwater.  

I welcome the dark.  I am curious, and gentle with myself.  I will not fight the tide, today.