I'm definitely a person that lets passion cripple the shit out of them; where they run with it so hard, to the point where there's nothing left, but leaving them with burn marks in the soles and bite marks on the tongue from all of the unspoken ideas that they can't accurately convey.
Writing and imagery have always been my kryptonite; something I love so deeply, but yet, in tandem, is the one thing that weakens the hell out of me to the point of running. Straying. That I'm pissed off when the inspiration and ease of words don't come easy; Consumption to the point of destruction. I think, in some part, it's why I dart from this to that; not because I'm a squirrel, but because I need to act in opposition to my norm; to let the restless bank of thoughts and visions fill back up from letting my mind wander and touch new notions. But it never comes about in a healthy way; it's never a penciled in, pondered upon switch.
Instead, it's a screeching halt of abruptness, an ass-over-teacup feeling of "holy shit I'm so damn done with this." I'm in "all-in" spirit; and fuck if I've shamed that for a long time; to feel so hard about things that resonate so deep of no reprieve. But it's me, and maybe you, too.
Balance, I just don't think my soul is cut out for it; because there's something about conviction and yearning to feel hard that's always been my True North.