Short Story – “Crying without Weather” – 2/14/2022

To assure the solemn, then begin to reassure that one in those depths.

Assuming first that a man here is not crying because of the weather, as no dark clouds exist within the sapphire-blue skies. Omit then that they could have been the culprit to his mood. If the sun is great and bright, then he cries out of an unseen kind of melancholy. There is a glint to his eyes, with a subtle tremor to his voice where no words spill from. He appears wanting to know. His eyes are aiming in directions to look. There is certainty to find.

He is looking at what is before him, though an adjustment to the direction of his head is sent to a different angle. It is the approach of leaves being guided by the occasional draft. What directions are there to keep focus? Is anyone meant to know? Misunderstand him, then assure him. Understand him if anyone can, then reassure him. Melancholy looks all the same. A dark smoke above a fire that states that life wants relief, and to then fade.

There are sounds, besides the wind or the frequent chirping of birds. Footsteps. It is footsteps that reach his ears.

Footsteps that do not make him turn around. Only the wind reaches him, even if they would carry the noise.

It might be evident that this man is ignoring basic and fundamental simplicity. If so, then the world around him is not dark. This man merely conceals the light with the uncertainty in his grimacing features, translating that to confusion. If the world was not oblivious, we would see his hands connecting with his face, disconnecting himself from the light upon the world. The sun, the life’s warmth is withdrawn from, letting tears leak between his fingers.

A reminder is the footsteps. At a healthy distance, not a dangerous one. Footsteps, light in pace, not loosening creaks to the air nor creating other prolonged sounds in the floorboards of the porch beneath them. It is the singular sound, for the meanwhile, until as the remaining drops of morning dew might land to grass blades, a pair of moistened lips open to utter speech. Words are approaching as the footsteps did, with the wind to guide them.

His form begins to quiver to become the newest leaf to run across the wooden surface under his feet. He would crumble, were those words not gentle, “You want to know what I think?” said the voice, continuing with, “I think you are much too sad to notice our happiness.”

Not dropping himself with the autumn surroundings, to then become a lower state to the voice’s own; since it is, with appearance to his jaws and lips, a hideous grating against his ears. His face is not turning at even one degree of an angle, not declining one degree above its ascension to the emotion of anger. It is his face, becoming smoke. His veins seem to boil in clenched hands. Once the somber complexion, now the fumes. If from fire to smoke, he will want to fade from moment to moment, then freeze into stagnant memory.

The voice draws closer. “You want to understand what you think,” it states, confirming with, “I do not ask those words. I know them. It is you who wants to know what everything is for,” ending for a nude, vulnerable moment, seeming to entertain the man’s blind trust to the voice. To do that, it draws closer. When it resumes, it says, “I do like it when you look away. Here I am, always ready to die in your arms for another time.”

Another time, with another memory. To the voice, accompanying an unseen face he seems unable to stray from and break himself for.

Details will explain the origin of a sickness, being one that stays for connection’s sake. Details such as scars or the quantity of what is lost, being recreated into the same number of symptoms. A pill will not cure it. A bullet will not challenge it. Further reverie will only relive the sensations. He is only a footstep apart from this Hell. No haunt can fade as autumn fog or summer bonfire smoke. It returns to leave another scar. One that sends forth the waves out of his chest, bringing out the madness running with every droplet of a tear from somber storms.

The voice continues.

“Are you always this soon to not pay attention?” it said, pausing to allow the man a breath, “you ignore all that I tell you. Even then, you do it, anyway.” Growing somewhat louder and continuing with, “you always tell me to stop knowing you, to not see through what you view. You want me to part from the memorable pictures and the small moments of pleasure ever gained by yourself.”

He does not respond, then he does, “I have a light. I have a path. I do not always need you to direct me.”

Louder to his ear, the voice responds, “you do need me. You are the infant that cries. You need my comfort and direction. Here I am, once again during your petulance, to provide it.”

Choosing to not respond, then going ahead with, “what am I in love with?”

“It is me. Why aren’t you happy with me?” responds and asks the voice.

We have seen him weep without the mood of the weather.

He cries without love, without the presence of something real. Something real, as love, as the stirring emotions that would cause the tears, on occasion, to flow. Conflict should be a part of any relationship. Beauty is meant to be a fixation on pain.

All vulnerable clashes with ourselves. Walking through our mind, healing while broken.

Pain fades, with the clouds, with the smoke, with the leaves.

Or it is pain that is relieved for a moment, a second for escapism’s sake.

The man throws his hand in the direction of the voice.

A vase that stands on a nearby table is knocked to the porch’s wooden boards. It shatters to a thousand brokenhearted pieces. All we can make from the wincing in his cheeks and jaws from fright or additional tension is how the pieces compare in an identical fashion. He looks upon the shattered vase, seeing what is broken, though the continuation to the view is evidence enough for what has been repaired.

A voice and no form to unveil it. What had he heard?

One short trek back into his abode is enough to determine all monochrome reality with a single portrait of a beautiful woman. Through gloss and brush stroke, it appears as if painted with tear stains.

Psychology – “Why Mental Illness Symptoms do not Return from Tapering off Medication” – 2/8/2022

“It’s as though those mental health symptoms were never there, and you were on a drug that tapped into the placebo effect. You were experiencing a hard time. You were desperate. You reached out, and what you brought back was relief in a bottle with a special child’s lock on it. The cap. When you opened it, your reality was never a thing to experience. You gave full trust to those who were never interested in you, only what is wrong with you.”

– Modern Romanticism

They always say this:

Your Bipolar, Schizophrenic, Schizoaffective, ADD, ADHD, OCD, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety… “might return if you truly wish to go through with getting off this medication.”

They say this, the NP’s, the Psychiatrists, and Psychologists, though none of them comprehend the red flags. How can a person who studies the mind not realize what affects the mind? They offered you a bottle with what you believed, in your heart, was a cure to your traumas, among all other mental afflictions. The red flags, being the very essence in not being able to understand reality. Not understanding reality is the place of mental illness. Being lost in darkness is the place of depression. Being afraid of the future is the place of anxiety. Then, since such is the case, those red flags consist of not being able to tell apart the differences in these symptoms. Whether the symptoms of withdrawal to getting away from what has been perceived to be a reality of a cure, to the symptoms of mental illness that was understood to be an absence of reality; the realities are always there, as our nihilistic endeavor to deny them only places us further lost.

If symptoms to withdrawal is the same as the symptoms to mental illness, what absence of reality is different? The answer is these realities are the same. A medicated individual has withdrawn from the craving for something out of their desperate design, to then have the same mindset for craving something perhaps more recognizable. Even if the latter has been perceived as more “recognizable”, the former had shown an exact amount of perception to recognition as the latter. The former scenario showed the mentally ill individual comprehending life from a perception of pain. Then, the perception of pain was made into a sameness of an exact scenario through the latter, where that individual has perceived themselves being dragged apart from reality.

Withdrawal symptoms and mental illness symptoms are the same, though the prescribers won’t note that. They will not give the warning to their patients that tapering from the medication will bring on the same symptoms as their mental illness. Perhaps the reason for this is to not confuse the patient on reality. If reality is shown to them that the medication is truly an addiction, they might comprehend that their own refusal to acknowledge themselves, not merely what is wrong with themselves, has been what began the mental spiral. As reality is meant to be a depiction of what is real, factors such as pain are alongside this. However, mental illness is known to have symptoms of pain related to the patient’s absent perception of reality. If life experiences pain for what is real, then how can mental illness be a part of this? As in, how can mental illness be a real thing to an individual experiencing it? Moreover, this is the same relation in wanting to extract the perceived need of a medication, also a reality to the patient for its intent as a cure, to whoever might believe their mental illness has been a reality for them.

Having those withdrawal symptoms as the same symptoms as mental illness shows that both are the absence of a perception to reality. If a patient underwent symptoms of Schizophrenia, Bipolar, etc., then such pain belonged to an absence of reality. The same pain is applied to withdrawing from the medication, one that was perceived to be the gateway to reality for the individual as they thought of such as a cure to what was real as their agony. All this is meant to state that there is no reality besides the individual, not to what is wrong with the individual. All absences are the place for mental illness, though as a practitioner to their patient will find that a resource, such as medication, could replace what is missing to said patient, there will be from this only a prolonged miscomprehension of reality.

Quote – “Mental Illness” – 9/21/2020

“Oh, the Schizophrenic is none so accursed as one might think. Their ability to look at the world differently can be a boon to those who see this realm for everyone, in a stagnant and uneven position. As I am one diagnosed with such an illness, it is then that I perceive what a human is indeed cursed to fragment, though blessed to place together in order. The only emotion I can think of to represent this order, is a one that holds all others in place. It is love.

For who I love can be fragmented by perception. By the analogy, I dissect. Though, by love, I reinforce.”

– Modern Romanticism

Quote – “Why Love can Extinguish Mental Illness” – 6/18/2020

“It is wrong to believe that a metaphysical wound, like any mental illness, is alike Alzheimer’s, Dementia, or Down-syndrome. Metaphysical injuries of the mind, relate to things incomprehensible to the fields of science. For science can only be able to cure the physical wounds, pertaining to cancer or diabetes. It can, as well, cure physical wounds like Alzheimer’s. Though, in the manner of a metaphysical wound, like Schizophrenia, it can only ever be truly relieved with its matching application. A non-existence for a non-existence. Love is for the wound that only it can see, can comprehend, can empathize with. Like the physical wound, being relieved by a physical treatment, a metaphysical wound must be treated by a metaphysical treatment. For the former, it is an example of the bandage to the scrape. For the latter, it is an example of love to the depression. To apply a physical treatment to the metaphysical wound, will not cure, though merely embed, all the faults of that person, deeper in themselves. It is like applying a boulder upon the already weighted mentally ill patient’s mind.

If love possesses no physical mass, as does a mental illness, then it is the perfect cure.”

– Anonymous

Philosophy – “No One is Born Evil” – 5/15/2020

There is no genetic component within the human brain that can offer a scientist predictions on mental illness. If someone believes it to be true, then they must also believe that each human on Earth can be manufactured to be evil. Like some machine built in a factory, released in the world like the latest model of some electronic, humans are not born this way. Whoever first stated that genetics play a part in mental illness, probably doesn’t comprehend the word “potential”, nor the word “susceptibility”.

Every human on Earth has the potential to be mentally ill. Meaning, that no one is immune to environmental factors, of the 5 senses, being the only thing that creates mental illness. It is because mental illness is caught from the environment, like the ongoing COVID-19. We are not immune to those changes in the environment, though we have a choice to do one of two things. The first choice is to adapt to change, while the second is to succumb to the fear and shock of how things really are.

Of any human with their humanity, such a thing like humanity is only ever buried, when someone doesn’t want to see how much they, themselves, have changed. “Change” is a big word for mental illness. No one improves into becoming the monster. Because the word “improvement” is opposite from the word “change”, one can only change into becoming a monster, or something they never recognized from an earlier time.

Humanity can only ever disintegrate, or remain, down at its infant stage. That is because “maturity” is defined as wisdom. Growing up from infant-hood, one is expected to gather maturity with them, and take it along.

No one can be born evil, because again, evil is not manufactured like some robot being constructed in a factory. If such wants to be believed, then believe it to be that the most evil wishes to dominate the most good. Their wishes, though wanting, are never fruitful, because it is always a shadow that is cast by a light. Their wishes are not fruitful because individually always reigns as supreme, when people want to see their own light, not a greater source of darkness. If such an evil person wishes to take a person’s memories along with them, show them a light that is in front of the crowd, not in the back, then mental illness will be created, radically. It will, because no one will think for themselves, in such a world. It is because of the sun, or any source of light that creates shadows, that every bit of darkness in the world is born from goodness. To imagine the individual as someone who walks with the sun at their back, will become individually bankrupt, once someone begins to throw that light at the front. For what a person becomes wise on this Earth, while not treading deep into hardship and pain?

Innocence. That is the goodness. Whatever “genetics” play a part in mental illness, only amount to the word “potential”. Whatever chemicals that are in the brain that can become unbalanced, exist in everyone. It is simply the case that not everyone’s brain becomes as distorted as others. Some learn wisdom so that calmness is their reaction to hardship. Others learn by being hot-headed, impatient, and wrathful enough to destroy whoever wrongs them.

Innocence, the goodness, can also be defined as ignorance. Without maturity, without wisdom, we are like babies, ignorant of everything. If psychopathy is said to be genetic, then it is only when an infant is born to a wretched household, that the infant, through its ignorance, becomes something terrible when it grows. Yet, hope mainly lacks for the psychopath, because their mind has been corrupted beyond the memory of the psychopath. That is, they don’t remember their time as an infant.

For a person to recede back from darkness, they must remember where their light had originated. If one is only in darkness, then they have no shadow. They have nothing to realize is their darkness, besides the darkness they are surrounded by. One should be able to tread into the darkness that is life, be able to see what is around them, because they still possess a light that is behind them.