Where Writing Lives.

It's that last step, bottom-of-the-spiral place I'm keenly aware exists. I also feel I could go there, that's where the writing lives. That's where darkness and release live. Honestly, I'm a coward. I've never been there. I've imagined it and at times imagined I was there. It's false to say I've truly gone. It feels like complete loss of control and its funny for me to crave what I naturally hate. It's sinking, almost floating and lost. Complete loss- loss of everything, inhibitions, concern.
It's desperate but not in a way that fights to survive, it gives up. Abandon.
I see this in my idols- no, in my heroes. The writers that came before me and the ones still present on this earth. I see this place in what they write, how they write it and how they lead or have lead their lives. I dare not call it insanity but just a deeper part of what's already there.
It has always felt like I have the choice. Like a sand cliff in the water, one could just step off and find no bottom at all. One could even have the edge break off and yet it can be more gradual than that. Almost a degradation, where you don't even notice it's happened until you're looking up and seeing where you once were.
Let's just say that for now, I'm not a very strong swimmer. My only hope is to find a balance. A way to reap the writing without stepping foot on that dark soil.