ok. long. a manic guy can do long. I got words. I got ideas. I got the kind of reactive thinking that can answer a question I haven’t read, with an answer I already have prepared, to a person who didn’t ask. I got self-evident powers of self-revealing, like revealing how fast I can talk, how many jokes I can crack, how many strangers I can entertain, and eventually estrange because no one can really stand that level of engagement for long…. too hot. too busy. when I am not manic I struggle being near it. When I am I am ready to start a conversation a fight a pitched battle a war for/against whatver. let’s go!!!!!!! gogogogogogo!!!
ok now I’m really tired, no wait I’m not. I got the energy of a mule or a god or whatever is pretty strong and durable, and I put on my mental brass knuckles and just start pulverizing my tender little brain.
Why am I afraid. Why am I scared? Why do I want to die, and why is it that the painless ways seem less than I deserve?! Why is fire so romantic and Quetzalcoatl’s fiery demise so glorious…… it hurts to be burned. I WANT it! Strip my flesh just a bit, just enough flaying to really make a mess of me, then point me to the fire, and I’ll do the rest.
This all makes a voice in me louder, the voice of loving-awareness I cultivate. I am Loving-Awareness. I am. Loving-awareness. Loving-Awareness….. Love. I thought it was about hugs when I was little, i thought it was about bodies pressed together, lips smacking, tongues dancing and flicking and sliiiiiiiiding on flesh. Yeah. I can get to Love that way. It can be THERE. Not always. lips and tongues and flesh don’t always have love in them do they? And moisture can be blood.
no. Love is. Love is. Love is patient, Love is kind right? it keeps no record of wrongs, and I do. Love never fails. Probably not. I do. My heart was closed tight. I would meditate, do asana, chant, tone, and pain would arise. They say “open your heart” all exultant-like and I look around and everyone is smiling, pretending. Or just me maybe? Then I felt it open, just enough to feel really good, and as it opened I saw….. my responsibility just got bigger. Now I feel a bit for them, and it’s not just about me. Now I sometimes think of someone else, before I realize how I will be affected. It can only be good. I want to die. But like I did in that fever dream of alcohol withdrawal and toxic plants, the one where everyone around me was trying to kill me, plotting, then hiding when I tried to see them, and where I cowered away from windows, listening to the pure unbridled hate and distrust my neighbors felt for me. They were so cruel, and I could do nothing, because they were illusions, they were me, and what they said, the fear and violence….. for hours and hours and hours. fear, recrimination. I was never able to separate what really happened and what didn’t, except that I was definitely in the hospital, definitely reaching a polite “move out now, nothing personal” arrangement with my very nice and motherly landlady, who always was so helpful and gave me privacy even from next door. how many of those are left around?
What I have said to myself is beyond anything a human could do. They hurt me once or twice or twenty times each or hundreds. I can do that to myself in a night. And I went out seeking death, to curl up and die and be one with the trees…. i guess in the hours I lay unmoving and terrified of life, feeling the roots grow up, pierce my flesh, begin the work of oneness in my body…. i guess i was laying in poison Ivy, and chewing it, like that lovely little tree asked me to. A parting gift from the edge of the universe- the gift of being eaten alive, and a rash down one side of my body that no amount of oatmeal and pennyroyal could fully soothe. And a trip home to NY. to my loving family. To the sickest people I see on any regular basis, because I know the sickness well. Is everyone like this? Do we really pretend to be civilized in some manner that places us above an ape? I am not quite ready to say some of the things I live with, they are icky and not fun to talk about.
I’m not really so great, maybe I’m better. i’m not a rapist, I don’t relish killing, I strive for non-violence even if I would like to punch a few people a few times. And I have committed the strangest of all crimes. not Loving life so bad I wanna’ hang on forever. Nope. It’s true, I confess. Get the fire ready. and the flail.
I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.
2 comments
Wow. That was a very good and deep read. I felt as I was there and it was me. Like I too have closed myself up to anyone I open up here yes but my heart in its self is so broken and fucked up it may never open for anyone again. If so it would be someone incredibly amazing who gets me on a deeper level. My question tho is this a made up story or real life? Can I be honest? In my darkest of nights I’ve seen images of things demons if you must speaking yelling at me really to just end it I cried I yelled back it was the weirdest of things and no I was not high or drunk just sad so very deeply sad. And hurt on the inside. Idk if my words make much sense but they’re real. And thank you for the read foxglove I’m gonna try and sleep cause going off an hour is rough talk to you tomorrow. 🙂
the demons part is less unusual than it sounds. common, but who would dare admit it right? the rest….. so tired too. Thx. ttyl and good night.