I used to write how a monster lived in my head rather than under my bed.

I think even then though, I understood the power of my own thoughts.

For this was a monster of self-creation.

A monster born from my innermost fears, a monster constructed with my bare mind.

And I wrote how the thoughts were crippling, killing me slowly, eating away at me.

But the things is — they were mine, all mine.

I chose to think them.

And my whole life transformed because of them. 

I am the custodian of my own world, my own thoughts, my own mind.

What I think is what I choose to think, what I let in, is what I choose to let in.

I think the day people realize that their life exists in their mind is the day they take responsibility for their thoughts.

Not control — for you see, they’ve had that all along.

Your mind is the brush with which you paint reality.

And for all intents and purposes you could be the next Van Gogh.