Personal Reflection:
Truth isn’t complicated—it’s brutal in its simplicity. The problem is never in understanding it; it’s in tearing down the defenses we’ve built to keep from seeing it. We drown it in noise, cover it with masks, dress it in distraction because the raw thing itself is too sharp. When truth finally breaks through, it doesn’t arrive like a revelation—it feels like something you always knew, something that’s been rotting in your gut while you’ve pretended otherwise.
And that’s the sting: truth isn’t hard to grasp, it’s hard to live with. It doesn’t just ask you to see differently—it demands you be different. It forces you to admit the wasted time, the lies you’ve rehearsed into habit, the parts of yourself you’ve abandoned because denial was easier. Silence shows you the cracks. Pretending paints them over. But truth? Truth rips the paint away and leaves you with the wall as it really is: scarred, unfinished, unflinching.
The madness is not in failing to discover truth—it’s in knowing it’s there, within reach, and still choosing to turn your head.
Reflective Prompt:
What truth have you been dodging so long it’s practically tattooed on your bones?
If it stood in front of you right now—merciless, undeniable—would you face it, or would you reach for the nearest distraction and pretend you never saw it?
Memoirs of Madness 