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on my Kanye

here's the thing that people often dont talk about when they talk about mania..

their eyes will scan your body language and feel compelled to tell you everything that you are doing wrong, to minimize yourself in order to pacify their public image, to tone down your emotions because they are incapable of processing them.



it is the singular thing that people use to hold against you in every sitting, the reason why it kind of feels like this lingering sadness won't ever go away, this deep rooted impression of loneliness, even when we're in the company of others,

the thing about you that makes you "too intense" and unpalatable.

the thing that became addictive, became synonymous with these wild rollercoasters of creativity and innovation,

the mania was the gleam in everyones eye when they talked about you fervently,

citing stories and making them talking points, as if the mutual relationship between them was single handedly based in my existence.

the mania made me an easy target to become the subject of discussion but only when my back was turned, only when my ears were plugged, only when i looked the other way.

because as soon as those they came face to face with my Mania, they didnt stand a fucking chance.

my wit was in peak form, ready to dole out comebacks in carefully crafted sentences, sophisticated syllables strung together to get those same critics stuttering back at me with weak regurgitations on how thats not what they meant, thats just what they said.


it sounds narcissistic to talk about oneself that way, i guess.

but thats the mania - its the audacity to think something of your Self, the validation and confidence to scream from the rooftops that "I exist!" and not only do I exist but i live and I feel and I am!

It's the god complex that instills itself time after time, deep into the root of my very being, swallowing every beat-down and absorbing the insecurities of every man, woman, and child's whispering through the grapevine about my character in absolutes.

its the sure shot resilience that picks me up after every abandonment, the kind that the kid version of me didn't know how to cope with...

it is the sole characteristic that has kept me alive after all the shit ive eaten.


here's the thing that people often dont talk about when they talk about mania..

they'll tell you that we're crazy but they're never say that their perception comes from sheer lack of understanding .

not only an inherent understand of the human spirit but the understanding that the world could be anything outside of their already lived-in life; the understanding that there is so much more beyond what they have experienced in this lifetime.

they'll tell you we're impulsive but they won't say that they're cautious,, both adjectives neutral in their definition but militant in their context.

some people merely have never experienced euphoria from simple things like sunsets and music, grief that extends into fortnights and laughter that rumbles from deep within the pits of their stomach that once started as an inconceivable pain.

and that's the sad truth,

some people have never felt ecstasy from becoming a slave to their mania.


they are incapable of becoming manic, even if they wanted to.



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