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[ Opinion ] [ Personal Narratives ]

Freedom from Touch, Thought, & Sensory Implosion

Misery may want company, but so does happiness.

I was wandering into the breaches of my subconscious when I realized that I was lost. Lost in elucidation. Lost in thoughts. Lost in prose. Lost in past regret. Why are some people able to live their life in the moment, just bobbing around in their own pleasantries? I’ve never understood the Barbie doll life, but I’m sure I’ve falsely advertised it a time or two. My heart has been functioning much like a mop lately; I’ve been soaking up all of the words, bemoaning and vocalized suffering of other people, but ask me to release mine and it’s mostly just crickets and insidious humor. So I just keep dipping into the bucket, but my insides aren’t necessarily healing. We’re all just here for the door prizes anyway, aren’t we? Let’s be real, I’m quietly dying, but if my history says anything it’s that I’ll continue to thrive. The greater spirit out there has this way of dropping bombs of success onto my lap right as my brain is coming up with an exit strategy. Premature exiting is for the birds. Just like a client who leaves treatment against staff advice, I would never leave this world before my maker says it’s so. I believe in predetermined destiny and I’m not going to fuck with the system. Who am I to make those kinds of plans? Humble yourself little girl; I’ve made it this far and so have you. Why would you tap out now when the fun hasn’t even started? These are the ramblings of a mind at 6:09 AM. I must run in 20 minutes. I must start my day infused with music, foot pads to pavement and list making. I’m an avid anti-fundamentalist. I cannot bloom off of tedium and negativity. One more complaint from you or you or you and I’ll explode. Can’t we all just see the glow?

Can’t you tell that I’m somewhat restless? Oh, you cannot? Well, I am. How come so many relationships have labels? Why can’t people just co-exist in ambivalence? I just want multiple partners to roam the planet with. Literally! I want to walk around and be able to just touch you when I want to. Why can’t I touch you when it strikes my fancy? That’s what I’ve never understood. I’m not talking about intimate or sexual touch, just friendly and informal. I just want my hands to feel comfortable and lately they rarely do. It’s Ironic since I always want my personal space, but I want to intrude upon yours. Who is willing to let me pet them? My dog can only satisfy that need for so long before my calloused skin becomes tired and unused. Have I freaked you out yet? Hopefully I have, that’s always the best part of any conversation in which I partake.

I just took a glance at an old family picture. It contains me, my sister in law, and two of my brothers in Hawaii in year 2007. It used to be one of my favorite pictures, and that’s why it is encapsulated in a frame unlike most other pictures I’ve kept. When I look at it now, it tells somewhat of a different story. First of all I never really noticed my chipmunk cheeks before recently. At the time that was my normal. I was severely bulimic, binging and purging about 4 cycles a day. The result was that my parotid glands were always enflamed on the sides of my face. It just became a part of my look, I could never tell the difference. They didn’t diminish until late 2011. It’s been a minute. The other part of the picture that bothers me is that I know the story of that day. We were all bickering right before the flash went off and the picture was taken. Harrison was busy sneaking tall boys into the bedroom that Him and I were sharing, Brent and Heather had to smoke doobies before each and every family meal that we had because they had no appetite without being high and I, well, I woke up each morning to run 10 miles in the Hawaii sun, followed by a day of avoiding food at all costs and trying to find powder relief from the locals. It was an interesting vacation to say the least. I had graduated high school just days before; Harrison was on a break from football which always worked against him and his efforts at discipline and appropriate behavior, Brent and Heather’s life was disheveled but they were hopelessly in love. I think we all thought that we were happy. I was probably the only one who could step aside and see the truth for a second, but even then my glasses were colored with psychiatric undertones and a false sense of optimism in the abnormal. Hawaii could save us from ourselves I thought. I’ve wanted to return to this vacation since the moment we left. I still fantasize about the apparent freedom I felt and yet when I travel back to the exact moments, there was so much fatalistic obsession that I could barely breathe at the time. The lungs don’t have the same muscle memory as other parts of our body; the heart has a built in forgetter. That’s how we learn to survive, don’t you see? If we could all just transport ourselves back to each and every moment in our life and re-imagine ourselves into re-experiencing our feelings in those moments we would all fucking incinerate and die! Are you fucking kidding me? There’s a method to the madness of our brain’s ability to do, and not do, certain tasks. It’s called self preservation and endurance. We all know a thing or two about that.

And so what I need is a friend. Oh, I have plenty, I know, I know. But I need a friend willing to explore and get down to the nitty gritty for a while. I’m not talking about chasing drugs or drinks or sex. Let’s just roam around and cause havoc to our sensual insights and ideas about the world. I just wish all of these moments weren’t so calculated. I literally don’t give a fuck about the penalties; we can just utilize each other to bond, and exist, and thrive, to talk, and touch, and laugh and emote. We can sing and dance and chase and I suppose we must sleep from time to time as well. What has happened to all of my ideas and diplomacy? Oh that’s right, when my life completely changed just a short time ago I was given a free pass to wonder around and call all of the shots. When the domestication that had become my legitimacy was finally relieved, I was able to cry and then emerge somewhat emancipated and honest. There’s a reason for this circus. Sure, I know, all of these monkeys are not mine to tame, and I will let the owner’s of each and every one of these monkey’s take care of the raising, but this circus has been methodically laid out before me, asking me to participate and keep it all in order long enough to watch the final production blow the mind’s of those who view. I refuse to burn in the oven that represents the low points each of us will inevitably experience in life. I’m gonna dance regardless of the audience. This is all just word and written expression at this point, but that never stopped me before. I’ve been surviving since the time that I was a child. We all have. I just wish we’d all allow ourselves to survive with a little more spunk and promise. I just don’t want to run in circles with you; can’t we run in the direction of our cravings? Not the alcoholic, obsessive, compulsive and/or substance induced cravings; the freedom inducing cravings. Let’s just abandon ourselves to that. If we all implode one more fucking time, I’m gonna scream. No more imploding, only living. No more commiserating, only reminiscing. Misery may want company, but so does happiness. We have to share the wealth, just like we share the pain. Someone please share your stillness with one such as myself. But keep in mind, the aforementioned request wasn’t just for me, It was also for the next man, and the next man, and the next. We’re all in line here people, get a number and wait your turn. Patience is a virtue, of which I used to say I did not possess. I have it now. We all do.