Chronicles Of The Battles Of My Mind—Mentala
Last night was a tremendous struggle! It was a though my body was sending me a message. There was an increasing sense of anxiety, followed by a slim capacity to breathe. I was feeling chills all over my skin. The more I moved, the colder I felt. Strangely as it may sound, I almost felt as if I was being watched. A secretly and invisible negative force that stood by—enjoying if I may dare say—the events unfolding.
I suppose the power of the mind is a phenomenon to be reckoned with. The reality is that my brain is a thought-reproductive system. I seem to find myself unable to stop thinking, and to deny my brain from being so hideously analytical all the time. Some matters are quite meaningful, but most of them to be quite honest, are but simple collections of rational gibberish and stupidity that insist on consuming whatever is left of my sanity.
The intensity in this overnight battle is so fierce, that my body begins to share the ramifications of this conflict. It is a decaying entity that gradually loses ground. You see, this is almost like the conquest of the most fertile terrain, manipulated by the nefarious hands of time. The weaker the control becomes, the larger the field gets. And then it almost seems as if everything is out of reach, and you simply see yourself—from the outside in—as a feeble soul. Incapable. Vulnerable. Lonely.
I was feeling very cold! The room temperature tossed every degree with each passing second of this malevolent campaign. The more I pulled the comforter for shelter, the smaller it became. My eyes opened quite a few times, involving me with the idea of visibility in such a dark place. The battle of the mind is not one that I recommend or wish upon anyone. It is an unforgiving opponent. Focused. Relentless. And it truly kills.
I began shaking and although the room felt cold, there was sweat on my forehead, my arms, and legs. Panic attack is what I immediately thought of. But where did it come from, why now, and why so intense? The reality buried deep in my condition is that it is bound to stay with me for as long as I leave. I cannot escape from it. I must learn to live with it. And this realization becomes the shield and armor that provides the essential protection I need. It morphs into my new reality. Day and night.
I eventually sat up. I was unable to lay down anymore. I shed a tear or two. Trembling. Shaking. I was feeling both terribly sad, but also uncontrollably mad. An anger that I have never experienced. Why am I here? What exactly did I do to deserve such a trial? I fixed a warm cup of tea, and as I aggressively wiped the tears off my face, I turned my computer on, and began to write.
And this is where I am now. This is where you have found me. Shaken up, rattled, and beaten by a clever adversary. But this is not the end of the story, it is only another episode of my struggles; another chapter of a book I did not expect to write. But clearly, one that has become a part of me now. Forever, I suppose. This is my realm; this is my therapy. Realizing that I have become part of this war is my shield, but my sword to fight back is this post. I cry. I laugh. I feel both hot and cold. I sweat and I tremble. A physical evidence of what it feels to be in the battle of Mentala.