If feelings were tangible, I would burn them. I would tie them to a chair and begin my wrath of torture. My time would be consumed with giving each feeling exactly what it deserved.

What a world we live in when our feelings torture us and we can do nothing in return. We have to suffer; to learn how to cope. If we could only learn how to transform from them instead of living with them.

Lately, my feelings have consumed me. The change I have dealt with recently is leaving me in shambles. Coping with my torturous feelings is, at times, more than I can bear. It isn’t enough to cope anymore. I must transform.

I suppose my feelings are holding me captive and I am now developing Stockholm syndrome. If you are laughing at that statement, good. If you laughed and then cried, good. Transformation is emotional.

It can leave you weak, vulnerable, and it can also leave you strong. Those three words separately are different. When they are together, they transform into something much different. Let me explain.

My feelings often leave me weak. When I am weak, I am vulnerable to my thoughts. The scariest part about my thoughts are they can lead to harm. The last thing I want is for my thoughts to overtake my logic. The beauty in transformation is the strength. When my emotions drain my energy, I don’t want to do a whole lot. I would rather suffer. I can’t. It isn’t an option. Strength finds its way and transforms my vulnerability into a sliver of confidence. It isn’t much, but it is enough. Once I become confident, I am no longer weak.

Transformation is emotional, but it is also a blessing. If we do not learn to transform from our suffering, we will lose the will to cope, and our feelings will hold us captive – forever.

Will they come back for round two? Sure, but our transformation has left us stronger and more willing to fight. Soon, our feelings will find us, but leave in the same amount of time. We will recognize them, and take control.

Transformation is emotional, but it is also beautiful. It has made you the person you are today. Perhaps you haven’t fully transformed as of yet. Many of us do not see it’s entirety until we reach an old age. But that is why we are here. To be better than the last time. May it take a lifetime to achieve what I failed to achieve in my last life, for in the next life, I will know, and I will conquer.

So transform, become great, be strong, and face your feelings. They will guide you to the person you were born to be.



I don’t know why I must torture myself the way I do. My brain becomes convoluted with thoughts and I struggle to put anything coherent together. The real disaster hits when my thoughts become dissolved into my work life. I mispronounce words, struggle to think clearly, and on time. When I do not write, I find myself going crazy.

The struggle is not that I cannot write, the struggle is I often lack the will. I suffer, although I do not like to say I suffer because it makes me feel weak, so I like to own up to my affliction and say that I have depression. Many who know me would never know. They call me high-functioning, although I would call it barely functioning at all. But perspective is all in the mind of the tortured; the tortured being me.

Lately, because of many stressful events, depression has hit me rather hard. What I really feel is my sense of worth spiralling through the thick, sticky darkness, and while I am falling, I am also becoming trapped. It’s a tough world to break free. I have to stop myself or I become worse. I suppose this is where the high-functioning comes into play, or rather just a deep realization of self. I know who, what, when, where, and how. It is just that I often allow myself to become trapped within the walls of my own mind and soon I start to think of ways to end my existence. I torture myself.

I wrote today. I love to write. It is often my only true solace. I have been writing since I was young. It didn’t matter the story, I just wrote. What happens to me now, is I often lose the joy that comes with writing, and I find myself writing so I do not become trapped, so the torturing will end. If only I kept doing what I loved, would I realize the torturing never had to start.

I must keep my fingers around the pen. I must keep my fingers on the keyboard. If I do not, I will find myself unable to write at all.

The torturing has subsided for now. I wrote over 1,000 words today not including these and it only took moments. Why must I torture myself for days, when relief is a few clicks of words and time? When I answer that question, I’ll let you know. Until then, keep doing what you love, lest you find yourself tortured.


The Tortured

For days, I questioned what to do for this Monday post. Should I find a picture, a quote? I searched what I had and found nothing. So I looked through some old notes. I found one, written in a time of great stress.

This was written in haste and is in its original form. You will see errors. Please excuse them if you can. I find it gives to the nature of the situation – a slight bit of chaos. Enjoy and Happy Monday.

She’s not listening. she’s not listening. she’s not listening. all my efforts are thwarted. she mocks me and mocks me again
Doesn’t she understand who the boss of this operation is? does she have any idea who I am and what I am capable of? does she care? is this why she mocks me, in this manner of moving things in the house; laughing, taunting, teasing my delicate psyche. I am being tortured slowly, painfully. it is agonizing. I only want to cause harm, but there is no touching her. if only I could find a way to inflict the same type of unbearable torture. to sit back and laugh while her mind can not stop the delivery of onset agony. she lunges toward me now and in shock I look at her. she walks away. why do you do such things? what do you want from me? I have nothing to offer you and you have nothing material to gain from this except the knowing I will slowly lose my sanity. you watch as it leaks from the cracks you inflicted with this deviousness. you watch and laugh and twirl the remains with your fingers, licking the tips just before it oozes on the floor. Then you flick the remains on my face and watch my reaction of shame and laugh while my dignity escape through open hatches of my soul. your eyes filled with enjoyment, your heart filled with volcanic ash. I fade away as you devour what is left of my existence. it sends you into a delightful dance and you skip away from the fight with such delight, knowing I am and was always yours.