Self-diagnosis

My heart is an unruly thing, forever in rebellion against my mind. Always seeking ways to leave me a tortured soul. It goes wandering around, looking for trouble, as if trouble wouldn't find it anyway. It is rarely ever still, only occasionally numb. But mostly it is a wildly beating thing, springing at the walls of its cage, wanting to burst forth and conquer the world. Alas, it is but a mortal organ with no miraculous powers of its own. It thinks it can overcome all obstacles, defy gravity and logic, and solve world hunger all in a single beat. It thinks it can love enough for two people so that it doesn't matter if it gets love back or not. It thinks it can take a fall of epic proportions and somehow put itself back together in some semblance of order. And even when it is lying bleeding and shattered on the ground, it still has faith. Stupid, blind faith. No sense of reason or recognition of facts. Just an unshakable faith that it can move mountains. It is a willful child, rarely listening to reason, only occasionally responding to discipline and consequences. But above all else, it is strong. For all its faults, it is the eternal optimist. When it seems all hope is gone, it keeps beating. It is the fighter inside of me, ready for the knockout punch, and just as ready to get back up and try again. Ever loyal to a fault, although foolish through and through, it holds out hope. And somehow it keeps going.