How to shape yourself.

Over the past week (just about the same amount of time I've had this blog), my body has grown heavy. Shrouds of gray have creeped upon my eyes, they have engulfed my mind, and they have slivered into every crevice. It's not so much of a cushioning as it is a muffler. I have gone from being daylight driven- absorbing as much of the sun's warmth as possible to lift me- to swimming ever more comfortably in the thick smog the moon accompanies. It is nothing special or unique,  but it has a sort of nostalgic undertone, solely because it has not presented itself in recent times. I embrace it at the risk of alienating anyone nearby, but this is not something to discard, because it is warning me of my... imbalance. It tells me not to forget my roots, my inspiration, and what made me who I am today. That my observational tendencies and artistic muse were not birthed by ignorance, and certainly not happiness. It sings songs in my head to keep the tone. It breeds a longing for more detachment. After it is satiated, it will weave itself back into my heart, but for now, it wants love.

So now, I am sequestered, and I am feeling sympathetic to those that grasp at harder drugs. I wonder what it would be like, digging deep into my mind right now? In lighter times, it takes me to... not necessarily scary places, but unfamiliar. If my mind is not the same from the encounter in lighter times,  I can only imagine the humbling experience it would be now. But that is not the route I will choose.

I return to the relation of myself to my body. This, my fallback, or my outlet? What started as a method to exert control over a part of my life, has it grown from that yet? For a short time, the piercings were painful again, indeed. Now, now is the right time to throw hooks in my skin, this is a certainty. But there is a time, and a place, and they draw near by the day. Months aren't even accurate- days.

The thought was never fathomable until I had a life-changing piercing experience. I had never worked myself up before, but I had to ask my friend to pause, for 5 seconds, before executing, which I never had done and never have done since. What followed had to have been the closest pain could possibly be without crossing over to pleasure. It was a split second, but the intensity caused my mind to snap. Then, I got a second piercing, minutes after the first. I was lifted off of the table, being supported by small square inches of my skin. Afterwards, I was drugged heavily by my own endorphins, and I withdrew within myself to piece myself back together and savor the experience. I recovered physically after flushed skin- that was even accompanied by rashes periodically- a few hours later, but I knew I had crossed a line. My personality was restructured.

That. I need that again.