burning

I feel like there is something growing inside of me, or burning.  Something that cannot be contained.  It aches to be let out, and I can’t.  No stroke of my pen, click of my keys, or note upon a page will ever be able to adequately manifest this thing. 

It is joy and sadness, hope and black despair.  It hurts, a physical pain like lead in my stomach. 

I am compelled to struggle to the highest peaks of humanity, to DO and CREATE and CHANGE and BE.  And I am compelled to throw myself into nothingness, to die, to end this pain.  The pain of being a vessel for something I am not strong enough to hold.

By some accident, some freak of nature, or by God’s will this thing ended up inside of me.  I am no genius, no hero, I am barely capable of holding my shit together for the 16 hours a day I’m awake.  I am just a mediocre nothing of a person.

But that’s not entirely true.  I am unlike others.  I have been marked.  Was I created to hold this thing, or has doing so shaped me into what I am now?

I have never called myself a “genius.”  And this is why.  A genius would not be so stunted, so stupid, so…faulty.  They are capable enough to grapple with the force inside of them and it doesn’t tear them apart. 

Will there ever be a time when I don’t want to double over from the pain?