They write about love and they wail about loss.
But they don't dare describe madness. It's almost unspeakable. Because if we speak so knowingly about the disease in our own little heads, we'd be found out.
They keep silent and pretend to go on living, thinking that heartbreak and losing love is the toughest thing they'd have to go through. But that's not true.
It's the madness. It's getting lost and never being found. It's knowing that the worst thing that could happen is NOT the fact that nobody can understand you anymore... But that you can't even understand yourself.
You end up doing something you hate in life but you don't get out. You let yourself settle even when you're unhappy most of the time. You speak yet contradict. Your eyes are open but your mind's close. You decide and undo. You cry and then laugh hysterically. You befriend people you don't like. You stalk the people you love on Facebook.
Wait there's more.
You get paranoid and you allow your insecurities to consume you. You keep telling yourself things that aren't true; I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm not smart enough, I'm not good enough, I'm not pretty enough... she's better at the job, he's better, everybody's better. I'll die poor.
There are very very bad things that can happen to you in life. Things that my mother never quite told me about.
You can lose yourself.
You can become unrecognizable to yourself.
You can disintegrate slowly yet carefully... into a figment of someone's imagination.
You can seep into someone's life and become part of their present.
You can become mad.
Mad with joy
Mad with rage.
Mad because you feel so caged.
It's insanity that they don't tell you about.
Because they don't know it.
Because everybody knows about it and it's all too real.
Hi I'm Nas and I'm mad. I tell myself every night that I'm not gonna eat dinner starting tomorrow but i still do. I know that you, are mad too. And you, madder still. So together, we're all mad.
There is no one left that's alright, honestly, there isn't.
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