Read To Your Content

The violence speaks through the sounds of rhythm. Each vibration poking through existence with the utmost significance. With each disturbance it makes it’s place in history. Be it temporarily marked by fate or sequentially defined. It is there, and forever held in time.

I don’t know why I’m envisioning the white caps of volcanoes but this will start off with that. Maybe just cause I’m still working through some things right now and the only way that I’ve dealt with my personal issues in the past is to drag them out to the most extreme possibilities leaving no room for play in the middle. But I think at least for this I’ll keep writing in extremes.

To the white caps of Mount Fuji and all the way across the big pond to the tips of the Appalacians. Even this Earth has breaks.

Actors in dramatic scenes of a movie have breaks. There’s always a break. A break in character, a break in the natural flow of things. There’s always a break.

I’ve noticed at least that in my breaks I get so caught up in how I envision my worst realities becoming true. At least my breaks that I’m referring too are just when I start to lose my natural flow in how I go about my day to day life. Most people have their breaks or stressful days or mental breakdowns, it’s still all the same. They’re breaks regardless.

I’ve never had the practice of letting things go. I always obsess and over analyze. But I think that’s just my unmedicated ADHD.

Anyway…

I can let people go pretty easily. Usually in most cases I let them drive themselves in circles trying to figure what I’m doing to them. That, that’s always fun. Almost literally chickens running with their head cut off.

But by letting things go I get a break. I get to see what that was like for me. I recap and reassess what just happened. Usually I’m always distraught with what I let happen to myself, but nonetheless I learn. I have my break and I pick up all the pieces that broke along the way and I move onto my next scene. But most recently I had a break and I don’t think that I’ll let it break me this time.

I needed for this person to happen and I needed them to break me. But they didn’t. Instead, I got better and saw ahead of time that I didn’t want to break and I wanted to whatever was going to happen, to happen. I’ve been so use to forcing things as they were and how I wanted them to be. But now, I just want to let things go and see how they fit. If they don’t fit, they don’t fit. If they do fit, then by all means.

It’s getting harder to fake it. I’ve never had to deal with my feelings before. I’ve taught myself to just bottle everything up. I know that it’s extremely unhealthy to do so. But I can’t talk to anyone. They tell me to just go to therapy. They give me blank stares.

God I hate those empty expressions. All that runs through my mind is, “God he needs help.“ I can’t afford someone to talk too. I can’t even afford to have a friend anymore. I hurt people in ways that I don’t intend to. I come off as an asshole or high handed. Even with people I don’t even know.”

I use to be able to say that I could see the sadness in people’s eyes. But now when I look in the mirror, I just see an ocean of emptiness. And then I lose myself. I am lost at sea, fighting the hurricanes of my mind. With no light to guide me through the fierce nature, I just hold onto the mast of my thoughts.

When I start to form a connection with someone, usually my response is to immediately to lie. It’s kind of my defense mechanism that I’ve built for myself ever since I was a kid. It’s bad enough to the point that I believe the fantasy of the lie itself. I feel bad for people because they will never be the wiser. It always comes out of nowhere, I tell stories that shouldn’t seem possible, but with just enough of detail to the story, then why shouldn't it be real?

And as always the opposite party’s reaction is to consume the lie as if it was truth. I mean why wouldn’t they? If I can believe the lie why can’t they join me in my fantasy that we’ve built together.

I sit patiently, intently listening to my inner voice. But all I hear is a void.

Some days I was able to hear different voices, some weren’t so nice but the others were... comforting. Comforting to a point to know that I wasn’t at least schizo. Maybe. I don’t know, it’s confusing to think about honestly. Trying to prove your sanity to another person is one thing, but trying to prove your sanity to yourself? That can get quite maddening.

YOU’RE SMARTER THAN THEY ARE

shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, no. No, you’re not. You’ve met people who were way, way smarter than you. You are not smarter than they are, they might seem a little slow but they are well capable of normal functions.

Now did that seem like a normal dialogue? To me? No, not really. Because that was a conversation that I had going in my head. Between two sometimes three different voices. Jutting into my brain at awkward times telling me obtrusive things like what they said above. Or, “Lie to him/her, they wouldn’t notice anyway...”

The line between my subconscious and... them gets pretty blurred sometimes. In moments of anxiety or pressure they can take control of the reins pretty easily. One minute I’ll be freaking internally, as you do, and the- ”TAKE YOUR POCKET KNIFE AND GOUGE HIM A NEW ORIFICE.” no, no, let’s calm down for a second. Did I, did I really just think that? No, that can’t be right. Let’s try again. I’ll be freaking out internally and then they take hold of the reins to our carriage and whip the horses like the fucking British are coming. Because after that it’s all hands on mothafucking deck.

In one instance I’m thinking about slicing my wrist up like a fucking barcode. Then, I’m thinking about this girl in front of me at Starbucks. How should I compliment this girl in front of me on her floral dress? Do I just tap her on the shoulder and say it? No, don’t bother her, don’t fuck up her day. Ugh, too much to think about right now.

Faith. Today I want to talk about faith. It’s a special thing.

For some it’s everything, everything and the only thing in their lives. Sometimes a person surrenders everything in order to have faith. To have faith that everything will be okay. Because their everything is all they have. Their everythingship is one of three things.

On a scale of toxicity, the top rating would be the worst of all. In this case, it would be surrendered faith.

Now depending where you are on this pitiful scale, the worst could be the best. Because completely surrendered and dedicated faith is a haven for some people. I like this because, in some cases, they have survived to get there. No matter what went wrong in that time, they still found it. Whether it was in themselves or something higher, it was still an unmovable force that pointed them in the right direction. Like the perfect book for the perfect person’s imperfections.

Too many p’s in that sentence. Fuck.

The second rating, however you want to look at it, is no faith. None. Whatsoever.

It can be just as dangerous as the first. It can lead to places of resentment, anguish, meaningless and pointless places of thought. Meaningless places are no good for anyone. Being human is meaningful. For this exact reason people need meaning. Giving people meaning is only right. Without it, what are we here for?

We exist to have meaning. Whether we find it in the stars or right in our hearts, is up to us.

And then, the final rating would be oblivious faith.

You can look at it as confused faith or misplaced, because you see that these kinds of people decide to surrender everything or nothing at all. Half-assing it is just the same as having no faith at all.

I’ve always separated people into two categories. They are either hard or soft. But not in the sense that it means that they’re not capable of feeling some kind of angst or anguish. But more so in the way they live life.

Some love to life fast, hugging death, making her smile. Until the edges of that wonderful and inviting smile wraps you up and makes you oblivious of what’s next.

That’s hard to do.

Others like to sip their coffee, or tea, if you swing that way, and let death put her hands on your shoulders. But never letting her sit with you, allowing her in that moment to ask you how your coffee is. Letting her be so intimate.

But instead she is in the back of your mind, just waiting. Waiting for the day you invite her to sit. To soak up the morning rays on the patio because you like waking up early. You think it makes you a better human. Appreciating life in that way. Because in that moment, and many like it, you feel at peace and that the world moves a tad bit slower. And wish nothing more but to continue to have these elongated moments. Again, and again, and again.

But being soft isn’t bad at all.

Sure living fast and hard is a bit enticing, but it’s not everything. At some point living life hard and living life softly seems meaningless.

What kind of man will I be when I retire?

Will I sour and be bitter as most do when they ripen with age?

Will I be beneficial to my community in some way?

Will I have left behind a legacy so that others may continue in my shoes?

Will I go on to teach or pass down life values to those of age within my bloodline?

Or will I have thrown it away?

Will I have insulted those who have taught and passed down pertinent life values?

Will I become what I have feared most? A failure?

Will I be alone to endure this sentence til’ times end?

Will there be anyone that will grasp that very same rope that I must cling onto in order to retract whatever time I have left?