The Mind of Vertiago

Consistently heartbroken.  The broken pieces of my heart continue to shatter into even smaller pieces, and it's my fault. Is it naivety? Is it hope? I don't know. But what I do know is that I've gone through different forms of death, and it is my fault.  I'm being taught this lesson, and it's been going on for years. Hypocrisy makes the pitiful look foolish, and I keep being fooled. I tried creating the narrative in my head that humanity is damned by it's cruel nature, that humans are inherently wicked and deserve nothing but misfortune, but my self-sabotaging heart just can't accept such. It seems to be okay with being struck down again and again The curse of the passionate.  I saw what they were doing to you, and I felt pity. I stood up for you and fought your battles. Equal standards of living for all regardless of race, gender, sexuality, nationality... okay okay Benjamin, slow down, that's unsustainable. Alright then, equal access to opportunity reg...

I watched you die in my arms. I witnessed it all. I saw them torture you with absolute disregard for your soul. I watched as they took pieces from you. Everyone who passed by said nothing, as if blind to what was happening. They let you rest but only enough to curse you with the strength to suffer again. Each time you stirred with a trace of life, they dragged you back to the edge of death. They wondered why you didn’t die. How you didn’t die. But your refusal to cross over only thrilled them. It gave them more time to strip you of your honor. Until one day... I think you had enough. I watched you die in my arms. I witnessed it all. And I’m sorry.

Every now and then, I find myself willingly going into my dark room of memories—sitting comfortably, counting each scar on my body. The hope that my fresh wounds will ever fully heal begins to fade at the sight of my old ones. Some scars date back 20 years, still as visible as the ones created just three years ago. As I count them, I’m usually struck by a flashback of the event, but at first, my heart struggles to recapture the emotion. My memory resists the idea of reliving the pain. Is this what healing is? No. I stare at each scar and remember each moment as if it happened just a few hours ago. And like a lightning bolt striking a high mast during the greatest storm, here come the emotions. Shit. I wish I hadn’t gone through that. Regrets. People often promote the idea of living life with no regrets. But I’d argue that regret can be the greatest teacher available to anyone with a conscience. He delivers tough lessons that strip the ego bare. He outlasts the five stages of grief and ...

A chip on your shoulder, a heart on fire & teachings of forgiveness is an interesting combination. Do you want to know what I hate? I hate how easy it is to hate. I hate how resentment is always in the neighbourhood looking for the person that will let him in. He walks around with such a relatable story that makes it difficult not to invite him. Such a peaceful guest, if you don't pay attention to him you won't even remember letting him in, he simply just exists in your presence, until it is time to be fed. I ran. I didn't know what to do so I ran. I took everything that I had, picked up every teardrop and ran. Fear was pulling me by the shirt as I saw him in the distance. I could hear anxiety's whispers. So I ran.  I hate strength. I resent you for assuming that I'm strong enough to carry this burden. You watched me as I suffered and pretended that you understood what I was going through. You promised me that I will be alright. I resent you for that. You told m...

25 I need the inspiration that resulted in the creation of man, the inspiration that resulted in the creation of the oceans, the sky, sunsets, trees, every species that walks the Earth. I need the inspiration of the creation of every instrument that blesses our ears with beautiful tunes and peaceful sounds. The inspiration of every created language, every... Ofcourse I remember. You would swear it happened yesterday, my memory would never betray me from trying to re-experience something so blissful. It was like a dream where you and I were in our own world. All it took was for you to look in my direction with the intention of trying to catch my eye. Success found you very early as I was on the exact same mission. Everything slowed down. I could see every letter of every word that surrounded me. I noticed every colour that mixed together to form another. I could hear my heartbeat as it attempted to communicate to me that I was seeing something special. It was you. I remember you. Your h...

I don't write in this blog for any type of praise or recognition, which is why I feel weird whenever somebody mentions it to me. Some people tell me that my writing is good, which I appreciate but I don't consider the weight of their compliment because it does not compare even slightly to what I wanted to say, but did not have the words to express it. I wish silence could be read, then people would understand me. But for now I use words. This blog isn't any type of diary entry nor do I consider it a form of art. I view these as my raw introspective thoughts of my most passionate phases. I try to write them in an encrypted way so it can't be too obvious for the reader, and it leaves room for different versions of interpretation. I do wish silence could be read, then people would understand me. But for now I use words. The blog maybe makes up for 20% of what I feel, the other 80% gets swallowed up and stored for later outbursts of which I hope can be understood. If I star...