Armed Greek Soldiers and the Shell of a Horse

I'd try to keep it simple but this life isn't that.  It's a whirlwind of emotion and the words only come when I'm too tired to write them.  Though it also seems I'm often too tired to sleep and too lazy leap from dreams to reality.  Who will save me?

And my life is a movie.  Texas?  Living alone?  Graduate school?
Where did all of this come from?

I'm watching myself from the outside and it's quite pitiful at times.  Where is the joy in living here?  Is this it?  Is there something more?

And what about these numbers that fill my mind?  What are they doing here?  Where are they coming from?  What do they mean?  I'm often without words but my mind fills with numbers.  Or rather, the same numbers come up time and again.  What is the point?  Where is all of this leading?  How will I be able to serve those around me if I can sense the fracturing in myself?

It was a good week this week though.  I really had a good time until I got stuck walking back and forth in dreams this weekend.  I've felt useless.  I've felt like a polka-dotted zebra.  I know what depression feels like.  And yet, is this even depression?  Is depression just a symptom and not the real issue?  The same with social anxiety.  Could that be it?

Still, there's another image that's been in my mind lately.  Another image of what this depression (or whatever it is) looks like.  What it feels like from within.  That's just it.  It's so difficult to describe the feelings of depression.  First of all, it feels so different to different people, but here's the thing I've noticed: so often we think that depression is a gun pointed at the head when it's really not.  Instead, depression is the mind molding itself into that gun's form and pointing it right back.  It's not a weapon from the outside, but rather one from the inside.  It's a traitor in the mind.  A Trojan horse that we want out but it's fleeing all exits.  It has isolated itself on the dark and deserted island and claims it cannot swim.  It won't accept our help, though it expects us to know how to get it back to safety.

If you want to save us from this Trojan horse you'll have to help us find the source.  You can't expect the war to end if all you do is destroy the soldiers' shell.  Good, you've identified the way the enemy entered.  You've eliminated his means of transport, but now you have a century of men running in all directions.  How will you fight them?  How will you treat the mind that is fracturing itself further?  The medicine won't work.

It's so tempting to say that it's coming from the outside but at the same time it doesn't seem possible.  There is nothing that stays the same except the one who feels it.  And it is more than a feeling.  It comes and goes, but even then, there are still stains on the ceiling.  Who will save us?

If the tragedy of Troy was as visible as Pompeii, would there be more attention to this issue?

If you're going to destroy the horse, you can't just let the soldiers roam free!

Wake me up before I fall asleep

At the rate I'm going, this much more than a "Quarter-life crisis."  I barely move, and when I do it's rolling over.  Still, I'm not quite as obedient as a dog.  I say that mistakes are the best way to learn but lately I've been learning more than I want to in that sense.  The smallest molehills are hardest to climb.

Could it be that because I've had so much given to me that I don't know how to start on my own?  Or am I just afraid of growing up too fast so I either stay in one spot or look to the past and for something that's still here?  And when I'm not too busy dwelling in the past or future, I can barely live here.  If I'm not doing something, my head swells and I need a distraction.

Sometimes I claim that I have nothing to do, though I'm just looking for a distraction from a second distraction.  I like reading but sometimes it just feels like a waste of time.  I want to get to know people. I want to be where people are.  I want to invest in someone's life.  Reading helps me do that...
but
    it
     puts
          me
             to
               sleep...

The walls don't talk to me anymore.  The mosquitoes each my flesh and my brain cells don't mesh well.  What happened?  I know that I have a lot of potential but it's hard to keep going when everyone either says no or is speechless.

Does anyone have longer lasting tape?  My mouth is fine, I don't need it for that.  (Well, maybe you'll think differently.)  I've got working ears but there seems to be little use for them lately.  Keeping me balanced isn't even that important.  The pain in my neck keep me locked in one of a few adjustable poses.  Though I've moved down with the rain, I've gotten a few bloody noses.

That's not important though.  What can anyone do?  Written word.  My soul exposes.
I go from poetry to all sorts of proses.  Or the other way around.
Not seeing the problem that it poses.

Wake me up before I fall asleep again.  Will my life begin again?