And Oh, About That Thing

I am here to witness another sunrise in purgatory. Neither I or you nor anyone else can do anything about the times behind us. Yesterday is gone. Am I right?
Neither you nor I live there anymore.
All we have is right now, and right now is good enough to make the next round a better journey.

Then, of course, I think about the sins of youth. I think about the craziness or the crimes, or the times when it was better to go as fast as possible, or to live wild, and enjoy the adrenaline, or to be mad, like the ones in the madhouse, secured by a layer of insanity.

I remember this. Sure I do.
I remember being surrounded by like minded lunatics and crazy kids from my town. I remember the need to sit at the right table in the cafeteria. I remember the need to be (or feel) included.
I think about the draw and the need to be, think, or feel cool. I wanted to be impenetrable, as in untouchable and safe in the harness of my crazy incurable youth.

I wanted to be a man.
(Whatever that meant.)

I think about the way I was and how things used to be. Of course, I think about the question which I have heard throughout my life.
“If you could go back to your younger self at any age and say something, what would you say and what age would you be?

I don’t know how to answer this.
Safe to say there would be more than one age or period of my youth.

I was no angel. At the same time, I have always had a heart.
I always knew the difference between right and wrong.
I am reminded of a suggestion that someone offered me when I assumed, “maybe it’s true,”
“Maybe I am crazy.”

It was suggested to me that crazy people don’t think they are crazy, nor do they try to be crazy.
This is not an act for someone who is crazy.
It was also told to me that stupid people don’t know they’re stupid.
No, they think they’re smart. Therefore, the problem is that I am smart enough to know the difference, yet I persisted in a way that did nothing else but degrade me.
Therefore, deep down, I knew I wasn’t crazy.
Deep down, I knew there was something more out there for me.
I knew there was something wrong with my surroundings. I knew that abuse is not right nor fair. However, when “it’s you” or when the pain belongs to you and so do the reasons for the pain or the aftermath, you tend to lose sight of your sanity.
I swear this to be true because even if we are sane, pain can make you crazy.

And so…
All the mind wants is peace. All the mind wants is to find the ease of math so that we can stop adding and multiplying the damages and fears.
All the mind wants is to be like it was in the womb, warm and safe, fed, comforted, and although life in the womb is short, life outside the womb is compiled with short moments that fill the notes in our mind.

I know this.
I have seen this to be true for my own self. However, I am certain, and I have equally seen proof that memories can be misleading. Oftentimes, memories can lie, mutate, or amplify the fears, or relive the memories that linger with old discomforts.

Hindsight is different. Hindsight is perfect because hindsight comes with an advanced perspective. At the same time, I can relate to the inaccuracies I see in the mirror.
I can still see and relate to the small child, the weakling, the abused and the hurt, and I can see him clearly and identify the young one, or the kid, who I was because this is who I used to be.
I still struggle with the vulnerable sights of me in the mirror.
I see me as I was, too thin, too small, too timid, frail, or sickly and too weak to fight back. Even if I did fight back, I was too uncoordinated and too slow to land a solid punch.

If I could go back to find the younger me, I suppose I would go back to my younger memories when I was bullied or picked on. I would tell the little version of me that I understand the need to fit in. I would explain that I know how it is to need friends and not have any.

I would do my best to inform that younger version of myself, “Look, you see him?”
He’s going to be in and out of jail before he finishes high school.
And him, over there, the fat one who seems to think its best to fluff his chest and act tough, you are going to find out the truth about him and how that little girl who never came out of the closet turned into a 50 year-old bitter man, still in the closet, and still being as hurtful as he was when he was a teenager.

I would point at the so-called cool kids, or the crazy ones.
I would point to the so-called desirable ones, or the ones who I used to compare myself to and think that I was ugly, and that they were and would always be terminally beautiful.
I would tell the mini version of myself, don’t hold onto them.
Don’t believe them. Let them go.
And I know it’s hard, but don’t listen to them. Better yet, do not be around them. Do not engage in conversation with them. Ignore them in every way possible.

I would tell the young version of me that what happened was not my fault. This was someone else’s dilemma, pushed onto you. I would say do not believe the unwanted hand has anything to do with you or your sexuality. That was “his” problem.
I understand that folded pages can never unbend and be straight again. I understand that once the boundaries are crossed, they can never be uncrossed or forgotten.
However, the more you hold the pain and the more you honor the wounds, the more your wounds will mutate and grow deeper and, thus, they will never heal.

I would point at the crowds and the people of whom I used to value. I would ask what my definition of a friend is and then, I would point to the people who were in my life at that time.
I would ask, “Do any of them fit that description?”
The answer would be no.
But then I would ask, “Then why do you hang around them?”

I understand the need to be somewhere with someone. I would explain, “I get it.”
I would rather be someone where someone than be nowhere and be no one.

I understand these things too. As a matter of fact, most people would understand this too. Most people might deny this because this type of thought might be too raw or too daring to admit.

Don’t listen to them.
Don’t talk to them.
Ignore them.
Don’t say hi or anything.
Be a ghost to them. And look around.
Look at the people who are good to you.
Do not be to them who others are to you.

Fuck the popularity contests.
I know they seem important now.
But trust me, I come from your future.
They’re all lying.
They’re all just as afraid as you are.
And as for the unwanted hand that touched you — that person is more afraid that you’ll come out and tell the world.

Don’t be so afraid kid.
Fear can kill you.
Stillness can destroy you.
Go. Be. Do.

Live your life, and one last thing — no one in the world is more beautiful than you are.
They’re only different.
That’s all.

Stop believing that you’re ugly.
Stop comparing yourself to other people, and more than anything else, stop trying to impress people and stop trying to be someone you’re not.
That suit doesn’t fit you
and that’s why you’re uncomfortable.

As I was writing this and thinking about the crazy details of my youth, or the violence, the offenses, or the tragic ideas that nearly killed me, I was thinking about the times when I was alone and okay to be by myself.
I was thinking about the times when I was alive enough to watch the sunrise and be at peace with the way the sky changed colors.

I know what it means to do bad things.
I did bad things too.
But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good heart.
I was the sum of my compulsions and the amount of my fears, compiled and added by my miscalculations. In the end, I lived in the belief of my personal lies.

I would probably say –
That ain’t you kid.
I know you think it is . . .
But no,
it’s not.

I’d say:
You can come out now.
All the bullies are gone and the view you see in the mirror isn’t what you think.

Do you think people will laugh at me again?
Not while I’m around.

Do you think anyone will like me?
I don’t know, kid.
But I like you.
Wait, no …

I love you.
Do you think she will go to the beach with me or that she and I can go fishing again?

I don’t know, son.
But we can always ask her.

But what if she says no?
Somehow, I just don’t think she will….

Do you?