Finding My Euphoria – Why?

I am one of two things on a daily basis.
I am either a step closer towards an answer, or I am one step further away. I suppose this is depending upon my direction or the journey I choose.
Perhaps this is so for all of us.

Of course, the world is an amazing place. I know this is true.
It has to be true.
I am amazed about the way we live, or how we survive, and get by.
Some have it easier.
Or like I was once told, “Some are sicker than others, and you kid . . . you are definitely one of the some!”
Maybe I am one of the some.

Maybe I am luckier than I assumed, and I lack the vision to see myself as I am, which is true, because I am lucky.
I have to be because no matter what was said or done or no matter how hurt we are or have been, somehow, you’re here with me which, of course, leads me to question, “Why?”
Why me?
Do I deserve you?
Do I?

I have always wondered about the difference between people. For example, how is it that one person can dare the edges and get away with murder? I mean this in a figurative sense. However, I am sure there are times when this can be literal as well.
But why?
Why do some people get off easy and other people suffer?

How is it that someone can survive the worst and come out stronger on the other side? Meanwhile, someone else could face the same strain or endure the pain and the same adversity and they can take the same steps to survive and get through, but the science didn’t work in their case, and, to them, the ending was unfortunate.
Why?
Or let’s take emotion or matters of the heart out of the equation for a minute . . .
How can two separate businesses do the same steps and offer the same benefits, yet with all things being equal, how is it that one business thrives and the other fails?
One person vacations from their beautiful estate that faces the Gulf of Mexico and the other finds themselves working for a kid, twenty years younger, and just out of college.

How can two people do the same thing and have different results?
Is this about luck?
Is this about timing or is there something more cosmic about this?
Maybe this is our old friends, Fate and Destiny, having a laugh over a cup of coffee and some pastries.

Maybe.

I think about the happenstance of choice or the portholes of fate. I think about the foreshadowing events or the moments of time that somehow come in ways of déjà vu, as if to open our minds to the surreal moment that, yes, we need to pay attention. Something big is about to happen.

I think about the unseen windows of opportunity that open and close without us knowing. I think about the times when I made a left when there was apart of me that wished I took a right. I think about the internal battles of choice. In the end, there will always be a part of me who wonders about the “What if?” questions.
As in, “What if” I chased you all those years ago.
What would my life be like now if I followed my heart back then?

What if I was honest about this or with myself?
What if I told people the truth about my heart, or the lack thereof?
I imagine what my life could have been like if I rejected the mottos of fear and rejection-based thinking. Rather than let time happen, what would my life be like now if I took advantage of the time I had back then?
Could you imagine?
What if I was brave enough to say, “hey, this is me!”
What if I exposed the disease of my selfish discontent?
What if I ignored the whispers in my thoughts?
Do you know what I mean?
Do you know about the whispers?
This is the inner voice or the internal narrative, which can be a friend or an enemy depending on our state of mind.
I listened to enemies far more than I listened to my friend which should be me.
Do you understand?
Sometimes, you have to be your own best friend.
Other times, you can be lucky enough to have someone by your side, like you for example.

Man, the whispers. They can be a bitch.
These are the insecure voices that whisper louder than any scream.
These are the internal conversations that lead to distractions.
These are the talks we have with ourselves that make it impossible to focus on the matters at hand or to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

I have these voices.
Then again, we all do.
Why do you think I started these journals, anyway?
I had to. I had to rid myself of the inner narrative.
I had to find a healthy way to change my voice.
Otherwise, I could lose to my thinking like water loses to a drain.
There I go again with that analogy — losing to something like water loses to a drain.

This happens when we self-sabotage. This happens when sadness outweighs our best possible nature.
This happens with anger and rage too.
In my case, this comes when I lose control or when I lose my mind.
This happens when I “think” myself sick or imagine the worst, until the worst becomes real.

It is said that if I can think my way into being crazy, then I can think my way into being sane.
If I can think my way into failure, than I can think my way into being successful.

This is like I said before. I am one of two things on a daily basis. I am either one step closer to my goal, or I am one step farther away. But at the same time, either way, I am one step closer to an answer.

I am not curious nor do I wonder why people look to get high or have a few drinks.
I have no questions about this.
I get it.
I understand why.
I understand the challenges and the puzzles, the riddles and the mazes of everyday life.
Sure, I get this.
I have to go through mazes myself. I have to answer the riddles and figure out the puzzles. Sometimes, I have to piece my puzzles together, even if I’m missing pieces, which can lead me in the wrong direction and in the end, I can create the wrong picture.

I have to figure this out for myself.
And, sure, there are times when I want to run away.
As a matter of fact, it has been said many times, and to which I agree.
I have wanted to run away more as an adult than I ever did when I was a kid.
Then again, we are adults far longer than we are kids.
Or maybe not.
Maybe I am a kid.
Maybe I am still that boy who stuttered in class, deathly afraid that someone is going to come along and make fun of me.
Maybe I’m still afraid to be wrong or that someone is going to call me stupid.
Maybe I am that little boy who was bullied, petrified that I will always be that kid, or the one on the outside looking in, or worse, maybe I’m afraid that I will always not be included and that I will be the last to get the joke, or of course, I’ve always been afraid to find out that I’m the joke, and everyone knew about this, but no one told me. There I was, this whole time, thinking I was cool or that I had real friends, only to find out that no; people are fake and that fate can be unkind.

Maybe.

Maybe I am still the results of my past. Hence, perhaps this means that I can no longer allow my past to dictate my future.
I have to stop this.
Otherwise, my next failures are on me.
After all, how many times can you plea ignorance to the same crime?
Or wait, how many times can you volunteer to be a victim?
How long does it have to take to break the chain?

Maybe this is a wake-up call.
You think?
Maybe this means that awareness does not alleviate the responsibility of growing up, or maturing, which means we can’t give in to excuses forever.
At some point, we have to saddle up and take responsibility.
We have to question ourselves and address the elephants in the room, so-to-speak.
We can’t hide or run away forever.

I can’t lie anymore. Besides, our masks are see-through, which means my weaknesses are clear, or at least this is how it seems to me.
I am tired of hiding. I am tired of finding myself in the same places or making the same mistakes.
I am tired of painting myself in corners or finding myself in the common aftermaths or waking up to the same outcomes of disappointment.

Finding my euphoria is different for me.
I am not looking for anything temporary or short-lived.
I am looking to improve myself.
This has nothing to do with my sobriety or the desire to find the loophole, so I can get high again.
I am looking to find that next level or to find myself beyond the grand plateau where I am conscious, and aware. I want to reach a level of understanding to know who I am.
I want to evolve to the point where no one can say a word about me that I am not brave or comfortable to say about myself. Right or wrong, good, bad, or indifferent.
I want to learn how to free myself.

And so, regardless of what anyone says, I want to reach a level of awareness that allows me to be unaffected and impenetrable. Or better than anything, I am free this way, as in free from the inner bullies, and free from the fears of criticism. I am free from the worries of impending doom and free from the projections of an unwanted future.

I want to be free enough to try new things or to laugh or to dance and sing without worrying if I am out of tune or out of step.

I never believed in natural highs. But I want to.
I never assumed they could take me up or out of this atmosphere like the old highs, which almost killed me.
Maybe the natural highs can’t alter my system like the old dope nods. Or maybe nothing feels as good as narcotic bliss.
Then again, nothing feels worse than being sick.
Nothing is worse than the wired feeling or the itch under your skin that can’t be scratched, and next, you find yourself looking for more, but there is no more, and even if there is, it’s never enough.

Nothing is worse than the rage or the fear and the anxious riots that take place in the brain.
Nothing is worse than waiting for your connection to come through, but like I said, they never come through enough.
I remember how low I was. I remember the zombie phases. And I remember the crimes. I remember the hurt and violence. And I remember the pain and degradation.
But more, I remember the trade or the settlement which took place.
I gave myself away. I lost pieces of my soul and at the same time, I gave this away to the fleeting highs that resulted in diminishing returns.
I saw the Devil, face to face, and asked for seconds after he fed me his bullshit.

And do you know what?
I can say this happens on other platforms. This is not something that is limited to drugs or alcohol.
I can see how this happens when we cheat or look for quick advantage. I can see how this happens when we look to take a quick fix, just to feel better, because otherwise, something inside of us is missing.
There is the unfulfillable void which is hungry and devours everything.
So, you feed it more.
But more is never enough.

Love . . .
I know what the word loveless means.
I know what happens when we accept a trade and take what we can because we don’t think we will ever have what we want.
I never believed that I could be loved.
Never.

I know about the emotional casualties and the hostages, the innocent civilians, or the unaware bystanders who pay for our trauma. I know about the people we hurt, even though they had nothing to do with our pain, or even if they did, or despite their innocence; I can see why kindness appears to be mistaken for weakness, which is untrue.
I can see how I have hurt good people. I can see why I have guilt in my heart or why I’m afraid to face this, or you, or the sins I have committed.

But as for kindness being weakness…

It takes real strength to be kind.
This is the bravest thing that anyone can be: Kind.
And me?
I was a coward for most of my life which is why I am challenging myself to expose this here to you.

I want to be happy.
I want to be fulfilled.
I want to see myself in my mental mirror and let my reflection become clear.
I want to be beautiful.
I want to be wanted.
I want to rest and lay down my weapons of self-destruction
I want to find my place in the circle, and like I said before, if I am one step closer or one step farther away, then let me go through this now.
Let me take the pain, if pain is on the way.
Let me face my fears. Let me challenge my trauma and let me choke the oldest bully of mine and rid him from my heart.

Let me rid myself of my past. Let me stand tall.
Let me become aware that I am beautiful in my own right and that insecurity is nothing more than an inaccuracy. Thus, let me be my best possible self.
Please.

I was thinking about this in the middle of the night, of course.
Wide-eyed and awake when the rest of the world sleeps.
I was thinking about the question, “Why?”

I was thinking of some old friends.
I remember how Tommy asked me, “Why you?”
Why?
He asked me this because I was one of the people who introduced him to a beautiful poison.
This is the poison that is deadly as ever but comforting to a degree.
Tommy asked me, “How come you made it out?”
He asked me this about a month or so before he died.
(from the poison)

Brian asked me the same thing.
We talked for a while.
But Brian wasn’t ready
He called me right before his birthday.
This was a few years back. I saw his call and rolled my eyes.
I blew it off because I didn’t have it in me to take his call.
I didn’t have the energy to talk about helping someone or listening to the same lies about getting clean.

Brian died the next day on his birthday.
I missed the chance I had to say goodbye . . .

I had my usual bouts with insomnia last night.
I was up, so I wrote this –

It is early morning, dark for now,
and cold outside.
The wind is enough to create sound
and the trees are shaking, and in some ways,
so am I.

I have no doubts that I am here for a reason.
I have no doubt that I chose to leave behind
the remnants of my yesterday
and the survivor’s guilt of say,
a young man
who questioned the order of things.
I had to leave behind that fact that I am
someone who wondered why some live,
some exist, some pass away,
and some die as they stay alive,
one day at a time.

I have no problems admitting
to the exact natures of my wrong.
No, I have been doing this for a long time.
But admitting I’m wrong
is not the same as
amending my wrongs.

I am aware of what I’ve done –
Besides, I have you
to remind me of where I was
or what I’ve said.
Then, of course,
there’s my conscience too
and of course, I do have my conscious contact
with a God as I understand Him.

And I know I’ll have to face Him,
if He is a Him that is,
and I will have to answer the question,
Why?

I don’t know, Tommy.
I don’t know why some go
and some make it out.
I don’t know if I deserve
to be here
and I’m not sure if I deserve what I have
or if fate
has something else
for me to take care of.
Maybe . .

I guess,
I’ll have to wait and see
until I find out.

And as for you, my love
or as for you, my heart
or my hope.
And as for you,
my dream and my desire,
had I had you then,
I might not have known
how beautiful you are—

Or maybe I’ve always known.
Maybe you’ve always been there.
Maybe it’s like the cyclical belief
that someone like you
could never love someone like me,
yet
you still do . . .

Why?

Like I said
I don’t know if I deserve what I have.
I don’t know what fate has to say
about all of this . . .
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see
until I find out

why?