So… just when you think ya have it all figured out. I mean to say in 50 years of living and learning… here goes… MAXIMUM EFFORT!!.
What a fucking moron. I can’t even tie my gawddamn shoes with out making rabbit ears… and 5 times out of 10 that fails too. Perhaps faulty fingers? Perhaps vision is failing?!!? I could blame it on malfunctioning laces. The shoe manufacturer does not have the best record.
I think everyone reading this knows where this is going…. I am a bonafide, dyed-in-the-wool, fucking idiot. I have a bad brain. It’s totally fucked. Even the basics misfire. Somebody asks me which way to turn, I’ll point to the left and say “Make a right here”, or point to the right and say “Left here”. EVERYTIME…I SHIT YOU NOT! And what’s more, I KNOW I am doing it as it happens and I can’t stop it.
Self reflection only serves to drown myself in the wallows of self pity/loathing. Realization simply adds to that. Been there done that over and over and over and over …. Ad infinitum.
Why not revel in my own little brand of madness. Many have been witness to me getting a bit, well, “unzipped”. Rejoicing in my bipolar, maniacal collusions (we don’t always collaborate, but always get the jist of ourselves).
Embracing ones self doesn’t always require a straight-jacket (oh… but it does feel quite exquisite. Self love they say…). letting go of our societal-driven ideology of normalcy is much better than measuring yourself by it.
So to this point, my life is a well read shit-show. Bad, horrible, choices. Life skills not applied. A bad science project. One that has gone disturbingly, unmistakably wrong and left the kids in the classroom covered in “lava” from putting too much coke in the baking soda (yes my life as a grade school science project would be that passé).
FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE. I push everyone out. Those I keep around are at arms length. It seems that after last year after having been gone three weeks for what was supposed to be a two day business trip, I returned home to find I was relieved of everything I had owned. TVs, appliances, guns, a crystal decanter my grandmother owned, a banjo that had belonged to my grandfather, items from my children’s childhood, underwear, socks……everything. Gone. I was left with a few dress shirts, after all, scum bag thieves have no reason to look good. By the way… don’t lie or steal from me, your next appearance may be on the back of a milk carton… not that anyone would be looking for you.
I froze. I couldn’t leave my home (which by the way, had utilities shut off by the time I returned home). I’ve never felt that vulnerable or violated. This is in the middle of summer in Durant Oklahoma. I was miserable, but petrified to leave. By day three, I had realized there was nothing left to be taken. I was locked into a prison of my own making. Still had some cash and a ton of points at the local casino, so I held up in a room alone for a week. It didn’t help… Dodging work, friends, and family. I was alone and didn’t feel any better. I was afraid of each knock at the door. Of what, I have no idea. Nothing I was doing made sense… 30 day vacation is what I needed.
So that’s what I did… 30 days of all the caring and sharing I could possibly handle…. then it all went downhill. One year ago… and it’s gotten worse. Common denominator is me.
Bad brain=bad choices.
Repetitive mistakes seem less trivial once you realize the mental, emotional, and physical impact that stems from your own err in judgement. Case in point: I am one elusive, guarded fuck, that has difficulty breathing, formulating sentences when put on the spot, that loathes others and is out of his element everywhere he goes. I fall out of communication with anyone who is dear to me. I hate social situations. My own anxiety is damn near crippling at moments. And commitment to anything is the scariest thing possible. The thought of dying alone is, at times a pleasant one. At least I would have no one to pull down into my wreckage…
As I stare out over the Baja of California… I recall the day I got pulled under the tide while on my last vacation with my narcissistic exwife in Cancun. Dumb bitch assumed I went to the bar or the room when I was 5 feet from her moments before. I don’t know how far I was swept out, I do remember the fear, helplessness, and desperation I felt in that moment. Absolute panic as I rolled beneath the surf, running out of breath I wanted to live, and so, I remembered what a co-worker had told me years earlier.
If you ever get swept out, relax and swim horizontal to the shoreline.. float on your back to save energy.
She probably has no idea she saved my life that day. But what if that had been my last day? But for what? The wreckage of the last 7 years would have been wiped out. Had I actually had any measurable impact in anyone’s life since that day? I feel the world may have been better off. Sounds like self pity, but truly, over the last 7 years I have been an absolute tool.
So I sit here, along side a steamy pile of my accomplishments from over the last seven years. Wondering why I have allowed myself to create this overwhelming pile of vexation. Unpaid bills. Relational wreckage. And a slew of debtors clamoring for fiscal justice.
I force myself up every day and go through the motions. I get up, go to work, sometimes even make it on time (although that has been rare lately). I do only what I must do while I am there. I put on a good face. Even muster up a few good jokes (After all, nobody will pick up on the foul, musty stench of depression when you splash it with the dazzling perfume of laughter). I do like to make those around me laugh. But I swear to God, that is even harder work than actually doing my job.
Adrift through this vast, lonely sea of oppression. Having sunk my vessel, clinging to a buoy to keep from sinking to the bottom.
For some reason, no matter how bad I want this voyage to simply end…I can’t force myself