If you’ve been reading my tirades about the SO, then you’re aware about some of the things he’s done. But when I brought it up, we reached a compromise about all that business but we shall see how this all pans out in the end. He says a lot of things, and this is supposed to be an attempt that showing that I’m not all doom and gloom about this entire thing, and that I really do wanna’ try, but this is much harder than I imagined. I would have to be insane to go through with any of this.
But we all know I am nowhere near sane. Why else would I do this? Why else would I continually subject myself to the anxiety fits? Why else would I choose to spend time with him rather than anywhere else? Why else would I choose to remain by someone’s side and believe words that I’ve heard before that I know have no meaning… but seem different because they come from his mouth? Why else?
I ask you, why else?
Is this why people say they feel alive? The anxiety, the fleeting response, the strongest desire I’ve ever felt just to see someone smile…. And when he does, the world just seems to brighten a little more. Life seems that much more… different than before. I am challenging myself on so many different levels, and being challenged in ways I never could have imagined before. And the only reason why I would do this is that I have gone completely mad, bonkers.
But I heard someone say once that the best experiences tend to do that: drive you insane. I’ve voluntarily gone insane before with the various hallucinogens I’ve subjected myself to. But this, this is a different type of insanity. One that infects everything, every part of you and there is no medicine — there is no hope for a comedown. There is not a hand on the clock you can look at and assure yourself that it’s almost over. The hands on this clock on the wall are missing. The numbers are written in a foreign language I don’t know and I have no hope of understanding them. They could very well not be numbers at all. They could be letters to tap out a script of time that may give some sense of rationality to this entire trip I have now put myself in.
But there is nothing. I am completely lost. And I love it.
I am in terra incognita, watching the white and yellow butterflies put on a dizzying display of symbols I know I’m supposed to understand, but cannot decipher due to this heady humidity, the sweat pouring from my brow and into my eyes. Stinging, I try to set my vision free, but instead, yet again I am distracted by more fauna that surrounds me in this wonderland of melodic confusion. Oh how these animals harmonize and sing with the breeze! I am supposed to keep my focus, alas, I find it difficult to keep my wits about me. Like a simple minded drunkard, I am stupefied by the deep reds that sprout from the amber trees and the fertile green that wraps itself in a disguise of seduction, luring me deeper into this madness. I can’t help but follow helplessly with these vines promising a respite from a walk I’ve taken forever. My shoes are worn and tattered, and my clothes are dirty to where I have forgotten what color these clothes were to begin. I bleed from a wound, struggling to keep it shut as I trudge deep in this jungle. My last bandage was used. My dirty red bandana is the only thing I have left, wrapping it around the wound in hopes of stopping the bleeding. Maybe it will work; maybe it won’t.
I am indeed lost in this forest of insanity as these voices call me hither with promises of cool retreat. Exhausted I am from the thousand miles of broken glass, broken soul, broken mind that I’ve endured for far too long. Maybe this is why I am falling into this madness. All sense of me is gone, and I have given myself over to a force I cannot see. But what a pleasant, blinding madness. I am filthy, yet you still call me forth. I am broken, yet you call me still forward. I am shaking from the cold and hunger… yet here I stand, feeling as though this song is all I will ever need to subsist until the end of time. Your song… your own madness… How I see nothing yet feel everything. My blindness has shown me a light that I never thought I would ever find. My deaf ears tuned out the rustling of pretend predators to listen to this one’s mellifluous heart song — how sweet the sound! And to taste the notes? Dare I say that an ambrosia as this has never rendered me so insatiable, beyond the hope of recovery. But what insatiability to have. What a desire to have carved itself into my being and turn me into a blabbering madman. But I would rather babble in harmony than sing off key in a clichéd song, the singers pretending to understand chaos. What order could you make? There is none! Nothing to grab onto for hope. And you strive to make a method of the mad? A song for the incurable? There is not a single vibration that could push me hence. There is no hope for me now, as I have sunk below the surface of these emotional waters. I have gone swimming in my insanity, and I’m not sure I will ever be back.