Get ready. This is neither good nor bad no in-between.
This is a ramble of thoughts without direction. But at least, this is from the heart,
Sure, I’m frustrated sometimes. Who isn’t?
It is zero, four hundred hours and the hours of sleep have escaped me once more.
I am somewhere else, yet I am here, of course.
I am where I have been for such a long time. Only, this uniform doesn’t seem to fit me anymore.
Which means I’ve outgrown this.
It’s time to find a new suit . . .
We are all at a crossroads in life.
Whether we go left or right, the constant overthinking, questioning, analyzing and over-examining is amazing to me.
We have all withdrawn or turned inward at least once or twice.
We have all wondered about the freedom of sunlight on our face or what it’s like to drive off with the top down and be somewhere else, like any place with a pretty name.
Everyone wants to find a redeeming moment, cascading like water from a stream, free from the rain and outward bound into a sea of empty nothingness – just to be released or unhinged; or otherwise, just to be out of the rapids and to escape the turbulence of our crazy life.
It’s true. We all think way too much.
We worry.
We project and expect the worst.
Meanwhile, what is this?
What is is the addiction to senseless worries or complications?
What is this thing we call bias or focus bias?
Why do we crash into the things we want to avoid the most?
Why do we paint ourselves in corners when, dammit all, we know better.
(Didn’t we?)
Why do we submit to things that are so monstrous in our minds?
I ask this because to the truth of them in real life isn’t so bad or, least of all, it’s like pulling off the band-aid.
Why?
Why do we calculate the figures in our head which turns into inaccurate math? Thus, we add too much. Why do we allow ourselves to be divided by fears and the inaccuracies of our insecure chaos?
This is crazy, right?
It’s true though . . .
It’s not funny – but at the same time, it’s enough to make me laugh.
It’s enough to make me shake my head.
Sometimes, this can be enough to make me weep.
Other times, this is enough to make me want to quit or like a child –
I want to take my toys and go home.
But, I’m not always sure where that is.
I do not claim to be good or better than anyone else.
I know that I am in the mental health profession – but guess what?
I’m here for a reason. I’m here because of the bullies in the mind.
I’m not here as a person of authority.
I’m not here to be an expert nor am I here to play one on T.V.
I am no saint. I am not a Boy Scout.
I’m not innocent by any means.
I have faults and guilt and sins too.
My closets have a few skeletons in them.
This makes me no different from anyone else.
No better. No worse.
I’m lost. I’m worried.
I’m weak and I’m a coward.
Maybe I’m brave because I admit to this . . .
At the same time, admitting something and not doing anything doesn’t change anything.
This doesn’t necessarily make anyone brave now –
Does it?
I’m aware, maybe.
I’m enlightened in some regards.
I have talents. I have dreams.
I have desires and hopes. If somehow this becomes my trinity and my hopes and aspirations finally become my reality, then I can say that I have succeeded.
This has no dollar amount.
This isn’t about titles or labels or accolades from the crowd.
This isn’t about acceptance or inclusion or the kindness from the critics because to hell with them.
Let them see me in the dark.
Let them see my scars.
Let them feel what we’ve felt and then let them tell us how it is – then maybe . . . maybe I’ll listen.
But most likely, I won’t.
At least not anymore.
It is early in this part of the world and, of course, I am tired.
Who isn’t?
Insomnia and me are old friends now.
Yes, we go back a long, long, time.
I know this world all too well. The thought machine and I go back a long time too.
Who else keeps us company when we think too much?
But yes, I’m tired.
I’m tired of the news on television. I’m tired of identity politics.
I’m tired of the corporate bullies who I encounter all the time.
I’m tired of the passive/aggressive character assassinations.
I’m tired of the slander, the gossip mills and the rumor factories.
But hey, news in the paper says these things are here to stay.
I’m tired of the email chains and the emails about meetings.
I’m tired of having meetings about emails.
I’m tired of being told how to send emails and I’m also tired of being told what to say or not to say in emails.
Say what needs to be said – just don’t be honest – that’s not high on the priority scale
(at least not in the corporate world).
I’m getting tired of the result machine too.
Results aren’t always what we hoped for.
They’re not always what we wished for nor do things happen in “our time” or the way “we want” them to.
I have hopes though You know that, right?
This is part of that trinity that I was telling you about.
I am a very real person, at least I hope I am.
I don’t mind the rain and, by the way, it snowed last night.
Just a flurry. Not a big deal.
The weather gods are confused this week.
It’s the transition that drives us nuts – the bouts between end of winter and the birth of spring – it’s enough to make the mind go crazy, if you know what I mean. Not like we need any help with this.
But still –
It’s cold, then it’s warm, then it’s cold again and then it snows, it rains and then the sun comes out to play for a while.
Our hopes are on the dangle and here we are, at dawn, hoping to go get them without any issues.
I have to say:
These journals have kept me alive since June of ’06.
This is a true story.
This is the most valuable thing to me.
This place. You. Me.
No one else can judge me here.
Even if you don’t see it, this is all true.
At the very least, this is all true to me.
I am closing in on the end of this one.
This journal, I mean.
Maybe that’ll be it for a while – not the writing, of course.
This is my only lifeline.
But, the organized journals might pause for a little bit.
Then again, I say this all the time.
I always say that I’m going to take a break.
The truth is none of us can take a break from our passion.
We can’t unfeel. We can’t unsee things.
We can’t rewrite history or relitigate the past.
I know this (and so do you).
I always say, that’s it . . .
I’m not doing this anymore.
I say this about different things. I say I quit all the time.
But I never do.
In total, I have lost more than 40 lbs. in just a few months.
The medication has been an interesting trip for me.
I am not overweight anymore.
I am not where I want to be physically
(yet).
I am not where I want to be emotionally either
(yet).
But why say this?
Why say anything about this?
Why would we tell anyone about us or the imperfections we see within ourselves?
It’s because we are human.
We are real.
We are flesh and bone, which is perfect. Yet, we have a head on our shoulders that is subject to the influence of life and impacted by the past. We have too much to overcome
But yet, here we are – still..
We have trauma. We have anxiety.
We have fears. We have anticipations.
We have projections that form misguided opinions. But to what avail?
How does this help anyone?
The answer is it doesn’t help us.
This doesn’t help anyone around us.
This doesn’t help anyone close to us or the people who care about our lives.
But again, why say anything?
Why mention this? Who cares? Who believes this shit?
Besides . . .
Wouldn’t this throw off book sales?
Wouldn’t this turn off the reader?
Wouldn’t this only make us human and imperfect?
The answer is yes, of course.
But so what?
What readers?
What critics?
Who else is here but us?
That is, if you’re still here at all –
Are you?
I have sifted back through old memories like a photo album of the past.
I have seen the different directions I’ve taken.
I’ve seen where my choices have led me.
I know that second chances never really come our way, at least not like we’d like them to.
There’s no rewind button, right?
I’ve seen what happens when we add wrong and calculate the wrong math.
Inevitably, this is what subtracts and divides us from the person we’ve always wanted to be.
I’ve never seen the beaches at Monte Carlo.
If I saw them,maybe I’d be surprised.
Or maybe not.
Are they better than the beaches of Condado?
I’ve never seen them either.
Or what about Acapulco
Or how about Fiji?
Is anything really so beautiful that the sights alone can cure the social ailments of our life?
Can this cure us? Heal us?
Or how about soften the insomnia enough so that we can sleep through the night –
Maybe. Maybe not.
I’m still curious about the Sangre De Cristo Mountains in Northern New Mexico.
People go here to a little adobe church at the foothills of these mountains. The church is known as Chimayo or El Santaurio.
Chimayo, also called the Lourdes of North America.
They say the dirt here has healing powers.
I don’t know if this is true or not.
But I’d like to see this for myself.
Just to try it
I’d like to see all of these places; but for now, I’m off to midtown to have a meeting about an upcoming meeting.
This is about an email that took place after the last meeting which achieved nothing more than setting up another meeting and, just like that, it’s enough to make us go cross-eyed and crazy.
No wonder the world is in an uproar –
Plus, there’s no more Bustelo coffee for my coffee machine in my office.
I’ve become very particular about the coffee I drink now.
But ah New Mexico.
I still like the sound of you.
I can see my grandparents (or where they’ve been laid to rest).
Maybe I can find a good place for a bowl of soup too.
You know?
The Written Addiction 