I Know I’m A Mess—But I Think I’m A Beautiful Mess

I am a cocoon of self-destruction. I am a series of mental-illnesses and negative ideology. Yes, I am chaos. My mind is a bottomless pit that created voices that dictate my life. They remind me, that with every choice that I make, of the worst case scenario and all that could possibly go wrong; they scream it so loud my head rings with their shrill cries-they make it impossible for me to ignore them. They warn me of the outside world. They instruct me to lose myself inside my head. Because although it may be a never-ending maze of self pity; no one can hurt me here. So I stay, inside my anxiety-webbed comfort zone where socializing with others is negotiable and the chance of rejection is zero. My heart, battered and bruised, resembles that of a soldier because my heart has seen so many wars. It has been sewed together by countless surgeons, just to have the seems torn apart by numerous explosions and stabs. My heart and mind work well together; very productive but also catastrophic. My mind tells my heart that I deserve pain, because clearly the misery within my mind loves company and seeks out misery from the heart. It tells my heart to chose girls who are able to hurt me; girls who emotionally abuse me to the point of suicidal and leave my body jagged with scars. It’s because I deserve it… I don’t deserve happiness. I shall trudge in depression and self-loathing because it is all that I know. Happiness is an abstract theory to me. It is as tangible as quantum physics. Yes, I am completely messed up. I am a mess- but I am a beautiful mess. After all, art comes in many shapes and forms; it is simply up to you whether or not to admire it.