So, What’s it Gonna Take?

If I could want to be anything, then I suppose I would want to be anything better than situations around me.
Look around. Look at the unfinished plans or listen to the common arguments that seem to go on for hours.

I say this with all certainty because I look around and I see the fights and problems. I see the items around me, which have changed over the years.
I see myself and my small place. I see my losses. And I see my bank account, which is not what it used to be.

I suppose if I could want more for me then I would want more than just more — if that makes sense. I want more than what might seem to be excessive. I want it all.
I want the world.
And I want it now.

Of course, I do.

I understand that the world of insanity is unaware of limitations. And sure, I know what it means to be crazy.
I talk to myself and answer myself all too often.

I understand that the stretches of irrational thinking can be unending. Hence, the anxiety machine tends to pick up speed or move too fast. Next, our thoughts take on the weight of an unalterable force — which is all too much to fight against because there too many parts to consider, and too much to take on at the same time.

I can see how this applies to me or how the world around me can appear to be in mass-devastation, or nuclear with an explosion that bursts into a mushroom cloud that refuses to cease, stop, or disperse.

I understand what it means to think with the absence of reason. And that means I am crazy.
Or, so I am told.
I know all about being crazy, or at least I can say that I know what it means to be reasonably insane, if there is such a thing.

This is when the momentum of my thinking picks up. Too many thoughts to contend with and there are too many moving parts, too many things happening at once, and of course, there are too many things that can go wrong.

What else?
What’s next?

And you wait. And you wonder.
You worry and you cry.
Or maybe you spit through your teeth while your jaw grinds because the outrage in your heart is punishing enough to destroy all the living things within your vicinity.
Maybe you know deep down that no one else is to blame.
But emotions run too thick and the chemistry in our minds has reacted in such a way that peace is unreachable and the fight in your heart is deadly, beyond belief.

The worry machine takes flight and all bombers have left the ground to detonate above unsuspecting targets that had no place in this game nor did they deserve the blame.
But hey, all is fair in love and insanity.

You think about how the sky is falling and all else is tumbling down. And yes, I’ve talked about this before.
I have said this before and I will stand here now, with you, and I will say this again.
You lose to this.
You lose to your thinking.
You lose to your fears and you lose to the casualties in your imagination.
You lose yourself more as the weight piles on your chest.
Or more, you lose to this more than you lose to anything else because when the drain opens, you lose to all the above like water loses to the drain.
All you can do is wait until you’ve been flushed away or until the air escapes and your lungs give in.

I know that people have wondered if anyone has ever died from this.
And I say yes, of course.
Anxiety is a bitch.

I know people ask if anyone has ever died from a broken heart?
The answer is yes to this as well.
However, dying is not as bad as dying alive, each day, until your last one.

I know of a man who I can never say that he was my friend.
But I knew him nonetheless.
I knew his wife died.
I knew how he never spoke much after she had gone.
I know that when I saw him last at a party, a woman asked him to dance.
And do you know what?
I was there to witness this.
He looked at her, in pain and yet—I suppose there was a hint of defiance and resentment towards her, and he was pissed that she would have the audacity to ask him to dance.
As if the whole circumstance left a facial expression, which responded, “Don’t patronize me!”
“I don’t need your fucking pity!”

He looked at her with somewhat of an angry smile.
“My wife’s dead,” he told her.
She asked again, unsure if he heard her correctly.
“MY wife is dead,” said the man.
“Okay?”

She got the hint.

I might not have called this man a friend or even said I liked him.
But I liked him after this.
I suppose I understood.
I suppose I’d have sided with him about anything after this because he felt something so great and so rare, despite the pain, because at least he loved.

He never dated.
And he never tried.

“My wife is dead.”
I understood this, down the deepest part of my soul.
While I might not share the same outlook, I say bravo to this man.
Good for you. “Muy Bien!”
and yes, que Dios te ben diga!
Or as I was taught, Que Dios te lo pague.
May God repay you for the lessons you taught me.

I understand the grip that anger has. And I understand the contempt for the world or for the happy features we see. I get it.
I see why people have hate in their heart or feel disdain for loving, happy couples who flaunt their public displays of affection.
I understand why people view this with disgust and say, “Get a room!”
Meanwhile, I understand the outrage of envy and my jealous truth that, above all things, I want this too.

Maybe my sanity is lost. Maybe I am crazy or crazy enough to hate as much as I love, which is a deep concept to me.

“I just want to be happy!”

So, what’s it gonna take?
I think about the obscenities and the anger and defiance I feel or the contempt I have in my heart.
But for what?

I see this as unhelpful.
Maybe I am crazy for holding out and thinking that someday, “this could be me!”
Or maybe being crazy is not so bad — besides, crazy people are unaware that they’re crazy.
Like I have told you, stupid people don’t think they’re stupid either.
No.
They think they’re smart.

Maybe sanity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Or maybe there are different versions of crazy the same as there are different versions of sanity.
I don’t know where I am when it comes to this scale.
But I know I want more.
And I know that I want better than what I have.

Did you know that I see too much in my head.
The worry machine takes off and I lose to it.
too often.
I feel too much in my heart and I ache too much from my soul.

This morning was unhelpful to me.
One thing after the next.

Traffic . . .
Lane closures . . .
Delays . . .
And all the while, I was thinking about the warning signs, which told me to stay home.
Don’t go outside.
But I had no choice.

I ran someone over with an electric scooter when I was pulling into the garage this morning.
He was driving the wrong way down the street and he thought he could make it through.

He was wrong . . .

It’s got to get better.
And if it doesn’t, then I have to ask myself, “So? What’s gotta happen?”
to make my day great (again).