It’s difficult to find the correct words when fatigue is busy diminishing any real concise thought. That little demon likes to plod around with its gargantuan feet through my conscious daily effort.  The little bastard is persistent in the endeavor to dismantle my sanity at times. He’s meticulous even.

So I over sleep and under sleep, no real cycle. Circadian rhythms, misstepped, tripped even. I hope that makes sense.

In the pursuit of balance of life, liberty, happiness and the counterparts there of, I’ve come to find that I am indeed in far deeper tumultuous straights then recently understood. I suppose this new understanding is brought to attention by the extent that it affects you.

The Christian root of guilt is imbedded into my metaphysical elements as though it were a prescription for design. In that, I feel guilty for bringing you into my madness at times. Guilty that you suffer the consequences of a disorder that isn’t yours. True, we all have our problems. That’s almost law of order in today’s time.

I can’t help but want, need, must impress upon you that it is never your fault when I’m at battle within myself. So I try to explain in so many words, put so many ideas together, little and big theories. The truth of it, through all my research, the explanation is always maybe, perhaps, possibly. Nothing ever concrete. Nothing I can put together and explain to “normal” people. It’s elusive, intangible at times.

Even theoreticians within the science of understanding the facets of the human haven’t been able to give anyone a clear explanation. Like most things, it just exists.

So I scurry along my own way picking up ingredients to compile into understanding. I fear it’ll never happen though. Hopeless? Not yet. Anticipating? Not really.

I want you to know that in my madness, at my most uncertain faith and will, that you are always a constant within myself. Even when I’m locked so tightly in and away. It is then that I’m fighting the hardest to come home.

I don’t know where this is going to take me, us, you, or anyone that cares. Perhaps that’s why I’m so spontaneous because I learned to accept my chaotic unpredictability. There is a freedom in relinquishing yourself to the nature of things, and also a volatile danger.

So please bare with me for as long as you possibly can. I know there are limits, and I pray that we never reach them. And thank you for loving me through the most extreme states, and bringing me home again.

Love,

Charlie