The plagues of sadness, fear, anger, confusion - a few off
the top of my head - pock my days, weeks, months, years. Don’t get me wrong, they split time with happiness
and awe too, but let’s face it….those darker days weigh much more. I’ve been pissed off at karma, and then looked
inward to see where the flinging poo may have come from. I’ve tried exorcizing ghosts and demons, and I’ve set them packing
on more occasions than I care to count, yet here they sit across the table from
me…snickering…bastards.
I could look back on my life and choices and let the pain of
bad decisions and life events shoot daggers through my heart: the drugs, alcohol,
tough guys, liars, thieves, loss, naming merely a few. But I told myself long ago that no matter
what my past held, it made me who I am today.
I said that in days I was proud of my accomplishments and well-seasoned
with self-esteem and worth with dreams bigger than novels gracing my
shelves. I was lifted up by the podiums
of academe with pride beaming from my professors and honor emanating from my
soul. My fabulous drug…and then came the
crash.
My father taught me to work hard for the things I wanted in
life and I would achieve all I set my mind to.
And for the most part that was true.
However, the story of life doesn’t end at happily ever after. The sequel began and as is true to form…it
sucks. Working hard never gets a break,
and even if you do, it doesn’t guarantee success or the goal. It’s exhausting and dull. Academe was heavenly for my soul and I thrived
and grew and glowed in its holy light: Knowledge. But the wisdom gained also teaches that you
never stop learning, and that learning on the other side of the walls is a lot less
fun and many times less fulfilling.
Life happens. We are
all sad. We are all stressed. We are all angry. For many we may not find that economically better life. Life
is cyclical, and we have forgotten that too.
Our children (and many of us) are zombies to technology and becoming
farther removed from what makes us human.
Communities crumble. Compassion
and empathy are terminally ill or dead.
We blame and scapegoat and often time refuse to see the reflection of
ourselves in others, especially when it is a truth we would prefer to ignore. We don’t share in the responsibility that two
halves contribute to the wrong. Apologies
fall on deaf ears because no one really wants an apology they want to point
the finger. And everybody wants to be
right. We must try to remember: truth = subjective.
In my younger days I was shy and introverted and fearful on
many levels. I was easily lead and swayed by others ideas and plans. I wasn’t my own
being. I didn’t understand the power of
knowledge, except what I perceived in others, ignorantly giving them control
even though they were equally as clueless as I, but they had charisma. At a moment in my 20s I realized I was my own
person; that I had rights and a voice and opinions and principles and needed to
believe in myself. That moment carried
me more than a decade forward. I basked
in my new found cranial activity: sparks flying and ideas creating and
excitement for possibility.
Somewhere along the way I didn’t replace a light bulb. I slugged through darker and darker societal norms
and ideas and musts and have tos and need tos and eeuww thanks for the gum I
just stepped in. My principles sat idly
on a misfiring synapse, speaking only when it was safe. I couldn’t lose a job, or offend someone
else, or be me without fear. I bit my
tongue and smiled or let my beliefs shrink back lest I be accused of needing to
be right instead of offering an alternative perspective. Mutual respect is on the endangered species
list in this Gibsonian world.
All the while I heard the tapping under the glass and a
scream every now and again escaped.
Instead of feeding and fostering the self-confidence and being proud of
my knowledge and experience I allowed the primal warriors to slice and attack
the very essence of me. I forgot that my
power is my knowledge and no one has the ability to take that from me. I was captured - instead of fighting my way out
and away - I huddled in the corner like a rat defending myself from myself. My madness grew.
I put trust and expectations in people that don’t see me
the same way. I make allies with those
who contribute to my cowering and fits.
Masochistic I know. My madness becomes apoplectic. My visions become
trepidation. My bell jar, my yellow
wallpaper, my catch 22 trap me even as I try to run like those dreams when you can't ever get away from the encroaching evil. I have two choices: break the glass, steam off the paper, and
fuck the societal pretenses or allow the possession of my soul.
I’ve been finding pieces of my heart and soul in places long
lost, and deeply hidden. I’ve found people who energize and
believe in me, people who respect and love me for me, and we love each other in
spite of our flaws and because of our flaws and help turn those flaws into
strengths. We allow each other to be
mad, sad, scared and help build each other up instead of feeding on the
weaknesses like vampires. We foster the
beauty of life in each other. We encourage
imperfection and nature as what makes us unique and special.
and those demons and ghosts...you know the ones having coffee with me...I realize that they aren't so bad once you get to know them. After all they've been with me a long time. They wanted to remind me that I have a long way to travel free from my oubliette. But I’ve crawled out of darker places.
