My Brain is a Beehive

The other night I looked at myself in the mirror and was surprised to see that my forehead was still intact. I expected it to have exploded by now, from all the pressure against my brain. sending shards of my skin flying through the air like shrapnel. And yet, there it was. And I realized that my seamless complexion revealed nothing of the torrent of bees in my brain. Swarming it as if it were their nest. My placid voice did not portray the screech of a steam engine that rang incessantly inside my ears. I had dived into the internal galaxy of my self, and was delving too deep perhaps. The subconscious was rising to the surface and revealing itself, like sea urchins from the murky water. And I felt myself being swallowed by a black hole. The nature of black holes being thus: It possesses such gravitational force that it consumes all light in its path, never to release it from its grip. And with each morsel of light swallowed, its force field becomes stronger, its appetite more gluttonous and unrelenting. And I, its prey, felt its greedy grasp wringing me of my self control. This was my affliction. Should I abandon the search for my Freudian associations, memories, feelings, thoughts, and representations? Did I breach the boundary of my human ability and tread into unauthorized territory? And I thought about how it must be a defense mechanism, the way god designs our brains to only be aware of a small portion of its content at any one time. Because if we were aware of all of it at the same time, we would certainly go crazy.
I am paralyzed by confusion. Too many opposing ends attacking the same origin. And in the midst of a sea of possibilities, each one indistinguishable from the other, I choose one at random. But when I heard my response exit my mouth its nature was unfamiliar. And as I tried to project the person I thought I wanted to be, I felt it undercut by who I really was, and visa versa. The different parts of myself were tripping the others as they were in motion. And I could not eloquently be one identity or another. An unintelligible mess, I was.

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