What A Web We Weave

You know that feeling, where you look in the mirror and forget that you are human? How did I get here? Is this forever? Which path was it that led me to this aphotic existence that now instigates my subconscious fight or flight response? As instinctual self-preservation emanates through my core, my past failures begin to unwrap the buried lies of doubt and worthlessness. Now consuming my every thought, my once celebrated successes are nothing more than a forgotten star in the distance. I have conformed to societies interpretation of ideals that success brings joy, but for me it leaves a detached void yearning for more and an intangible, unrealistic craving for something that likely does not exists. I am rendered restless and imprisoned by the intricate web I spin, overwhelmed with who I perceive I should be.
The inadequacies that taunt me were once just a whisper. Now they overpower any confidence my triumphs once provided. When my trepidations swell, an all-consuming nothingness assumes the containment of my apprehensions, resulting in an all too familiar numbness that hushes the intensifying hysteria. My outwardly demeanor still beams with gleeful smiles, and bubbly conversations, as if I were a renowned actress of a Broadway play effortlessly capturing the perfection of her writer’s astonishing imagination. Flawlessly executing daily routines like a robot devoid of feelings has subsequently lead to my now rapid descent to withdraw. It’s only when the moon rises, and the bitter cold night kisses my skin, am I able to feel the depths of gravity in which I have now sunk. I long for just a moment to sit in the silence, to again know what alive is, to relish in the fleeting preciousness of a minute, and breathe in the air like I were the last to ever breathe it. If only this life was as simple as pausing these moments forever, then maybe I could claw through these restraints held by my metaphysical jailor I once sought for refuge. But I can't. I am but a captive trap within the confines of my mind controlled by a lack of self-worth and failure. Who I am has been locked away now, perpetually silenced by the paralyzing anxieties of failure. With desperate circumspect the imposter excavates my senses of free-will and individuality, creating nothing more than a hollowed machine set for auto-pilot to please social standards.
How can I find my way back to the familiar semblances of freedom I once unconcernedly neglected, like laying in the grass looking at the blue sky when the seasons seemed to stand still, and the times when all was silent but the wind rustling the forever green leaves that burst with the multiplexes of colors that tantalized the very fibers that at one time made me feel presently alive? Is there such a path? Is it possible to back track the steps I took that led me to this place? Or have the rusted steal tracks of this beaten passage forever been bonded? Are they now forever irreversibly sealed? This new constant involuntary repetition has become like a nightmare to an innocent child and the dream of carelessly frolicking freely through the warm summer night are now fading faster than ever before. Soon, all that will remain is a memory of who I once was, and all will then be forever lost all because of the desperate need to deceive those around me. I have spun a web, thinking I could hide behind its beautiful design, while drawing in acceptance I sought. Instead, this indestructible creation swallows the weak and bestowed a curse of apathetic regret I cannot seem to escape.

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