Do you know your mental address?
A litany of questions with few answers
How many rooms do you possess in that mind of yours? How many rooms have you inhabited and how many are empty?
Do you have dedicated rooms for each of your feelings? Are your thoughts occupying certain rooms or are they projecting out of a huge cauldron or a big enclosure housing a perpetually powered generator?
Are there dogs in your mental home? Do you find them to be welcoming and playful and energetic all the time? Do you have any feelings that are never in the surface but add texture to the paint within the walls that separate your mind?
Do you find your room colours changing with each feeling? Do you see different hues and shades depending on the time of day? Are there endless pathways you don’t know where they lead? Are these pathways lit or do they fade endlessly into corridors with dimming lights you would rather not explore?
You walk down the corridors of your mind, greeting your enthusiasm, as you knock on the doors of your energy, waiting for it to wake up. You walk further to see last night’s anger is still screeching the walls with a chalk splintered from a fight with your coworker. The beautiful wall is getting tarnished with weird figures being conjured up by your anger. You approach your anger who angrily shoves you away. You raise your arms up in surrender, back off, and walk away.
You pass by your despair that is leaning against the wall, with a stoic expression in line with its limited expectations. The disappointment is quite obvious. You nod and so does it. You walk further and suddenly hear a cracking sound. The door to your fears lies to your right. You open this door and go inside.
A veritable circus awaits you. The room is filled with grotesque creatures, blobs without shape or form, amoebic in their presence. The creatures fly, swing, and ricochet off the walls, defying all laws of physics. There’s the old window you were scared of as a child, juxtaposed strangely with a truck’s front rails. Some shapeless entities are having a conversation in the middle, and there’s a strange apparition resembling your own self listening to all of that.
Deep in the corner lies a table with no chair. It houses books that you should have written but never could. Pages periodically fly out of these books and get disintegrated as they touch one of the many creatures flying around. But you know they’ll be there.
A guitar lays beneath the cot, the wood of it cracked and strings so taut that holding down is impossible.
They say you should face your fears as if it’s a tangible object you can confront, break, and then overcome.
How do you have a conversation with an entity that knows no sound, language, or feelings? Questions exist in your mind but does fear have any means to rationally converse?
The ground beneath you quakes and suddenly turns into a gel-like mass that will engulf everything but strangely you stand steady. This won’t get resolved tonight.
You turn and start to walk out of the room. A dotted apparition serves to block your path and hinder the doorknob. You turn the knob anyway and your touch stinges the apparition and it flies off into the far corner of the room, not in an arc, but in a sharp pivot.
You close the door to your fears and walk down. There are rooms that you still need to explore. Should you go into the other rooms?
Wait, is that a staircase that just popped up? Why would it even arise suddenly? It looks like there are levels of these but will you go through the stairs exploring further?
The main door is visible just beyond. There’s an entire world of objectivity outside, the only downside being, by the time you return to this house, the inhabitants, the rooms, and the layout will be completely unrecognisable. A hard reset. More permanent than the walls that my flesh and bones inhabit is the address of my mind. I’ll take it for now. For I know where I will return.
