Control.

There are moments in life where the only possible options are to lose control.  To simply let go, allowing the black hole that remained just out of sight to suddenly devour us whole, encompassing us in a darkness unmatched by even eternal slumber.  Those of us that are stronger, and can hold on for slightly longer continue to do so, avoiding, evading, ignoring until all is forgotten once again and brushed under the proverbial rug.  Then there are those of us who have tried so hard to remain standing, to stay upright pretending that we are immune to the overwhelming pressure that is gravity.  No, not us, we will not be shaken, even if just for one more solitary day.  We all tend to conveniently forget the support system that each and every single one of us possess and have had since the beginning of time.  Aside from our conscience (what greater than our most basic, natural instinct that helps guide us through the landscapes of our lives) some of our families, counselors, professors, friends and overall loved ones would love to hear from us; whether for guidance or even just an encouraging word or reminder that you still care. 

Deciding to lose control is half the battle whilst accepting it is the other half.  Firstly, we need to somehow convince our stubborn egos to accept that we can no longer cope with the paths which our lives have taken and need to reevaluate. Then we must constantly remind ourselves that we are taking the reigns and changing the course of our voyages.  Our ego responds with denial, doubt, anger as our defenses shoot up with the false belief that they somehow protect us.  Already in a state of vulnerability, we counter-intuitively make efforts to prevent ourselves from appearing vulnerable as our ego is rooted in image and others' perception of us.  We could desperately need to take a step back and relinquish control temporarily although doing so would portray us as weak, cowardly or unstable.  Asking for help when needed is often mistaken as a flaw although it is a strength; to be aware of and then utilize one's resources translates as being self-aware and almost humble to know and accept that you are loved and are so valuable.

Losing control, though seen as destructive, can be healing in that it allows us to take a step back and begin a metamorphosis of sorts.  I have lost control many times, of my emotions, impulses, and addictions, to name a few.  It is a traumatic experience to be centred on maintaining control and then having to accept that you are not in control; similar to a life's work dedicated to evolution and then finding out it was all fiction.  As someone with many compulsions, the energy I allocated to appearing to be in control was now free to be utilized to reeducate myself on how to maintain balance through a routine of sorts and by familiarizing myself with moderation, a concept which my ego regarded as inferior and an issue that only attached itself to weaker minds.  I convinced myself I was invincible and capable of anything I put my mind to, ignoring the rampant alcoholism within my family, conveniently forgetting my own mental health history and that to think in cliches was to become one. Perhaps these delusions of grandeur could be brought down to Earth during this period of change & growth.

BiPolar.

With my heart in the Antarctic, and my mind somewhere in the Philippines, it can become quite exhausting trying to grasp the intricacies of my extremes.  Blazing like a wild fiery inferno in one instant, then frigid, icy cold the next, my moods catapult conspiring to make me appear my worst and then immediately my best.  Though I resolve to reveal only the side of me that never frightens others scaring them away, when I am left untreated, it can go either way.  Depending on the day, I am unintentionally one's foe or their friend, irritability then rears its ugly face resulting in world's end.  I shout, swear, scream and then the storm is over as suddenly as it began, I hurry to collect the scattered pieces of a misunderstood man.  Although I hate playing the victim, I cannot be forced to take the blame, as though pointing the finger at me could somehow change the game.  Stretched to my limit in opposite directions many times throughout the day, this internal war pierces my skin with its shrapnel in the worst way.  On the surface, all is calm yet just below is another outbreak, as I summon all my strength to prevent any mistakes.  Comedy and tragedy in their duality are personified by me, though I would prefer to remain an anomaly, or mystery.  Torn between two arguments even though both contain logic and reason, I am not winter or fall, but rather the highs and lows of every season.  

Super Rich Kids.

Children raising themselves are the reason why sex sells, why petulance has become pedestrian and synonymous with prepubescence.  Parents that refuse to instill values or morals in their offspring, quickly reveal that they are the reason their children are dressed for the season but insipid and boring.  These babies are having babies, and only then do their parents wonder what the Hell they did wrong, as if nine months were the only indication they had for their list of discrepancies which was several sorry pages long.  Exposed to more skin during the day than exists in some pornography, influenced to lose more weight in the hopes of being told by complete strangers whether they are just plain or pretty.  Accepting challenges to pour alcohol into their own eyes or successfully inhaling and regurgitating condoms on their first try, I would blame it on their parents but they are nowhere in sight, enslaved by money as they model the behaviour that is eventually accepted as right.  In comparison, reality television appears to be overflowing with class, as the real housewives seem more scrupulous than these parents that refuse to teach their children how to last.  Suicides attempted from insults strewn on the internet, these kids, though in a rush to be adults, are so easily, irreversibly upset.  Confidence could have conquered their consideration of others' cruel critiques, as immeasurable insecurities immediately invalidate everything that they believed.  Devoid of the ability to rise above or see beyond, sticks, stones and especially words can easily break their fragile bonds.  Darwin held onto claims that only the fittest would survive yet somehow these devolved beings made it out alive.  If the future of the world rests in hands that are too preoccupied with their phones, mankind as we know it will die, replaced by derailing dial tones.