There is a science to us all. There is a science to the way we live and the way we think and act. There is a science to how we do everything.
There’s a science to the way we interact and a science to the reasons we reach out to certain types of people.
Everyone has a personal science, which is behind everything we do. This comes from our background and our surroundings. Our science is born from our genetics and our social influence. This also comes from our chemistry. In fact, there used to be a billboard that said, “Depression:is a flaw in chemistry not character.”
Young man disappeared into the machine last morning
His breath shook when powder dissolved into bloodstream
Waves pulse through the body
Minds give way to rituals that divide life from lifelessness
All else fades as the pulse slips away
Come here, said the fly to the spider
I’ve been looking all over for you . . .
Every so often I get calls, late at night, and on the other end of the call is a desperate voice from a desperate person in the middle of a desperate time. They speak as if I can immediately recognize their voice. Sometimes it’s easy to tell. Other times, I have to listen for a while.
I never ask who it is. I just listen and let them talk until I figure this out on my own. This never takes long.
Sometimes the person is crying. Sometimes the person is talking in a low tone, afraid that someone might hear them and they’re paranoid about some exterior force with some ulterior motive.
Oftentimes, the person is incoherent or drunk or sick or on the run and trying to keep themselves from being locked up in a cage.
Nothing is ever comfortable when anxiety hits. As someone that understands anxiety first hand, I have made it a point to reach out to others that struggle with this as well. I wanted to speak with people that live with different anxiety disorders or struggle with panic attacks.
As a means to learn more, I shared text threads with small groups of people that reached out when the anxiety hit.
This was not done as a professional by any means. Instead, the groups and conversations were used to gain a better perspective. Plus, I wanted to learn helpful tactics to help myself as well as others. More than anything, I wanted to understand what works best.
I had never done much professionally or unprofessionally in the field of education or mental health before. I was never educated in the usual classes; however, I have done my share of field research on both a personal and interpersonal level.
I have attended my share of learning seminars and taken a fair amount of courses. I have a few certificates and a strong resume; yet still, I have been subject to the snobbery of those with different experience or higher ranks of education.
Beware the angst of youth.
When you have no other way to voice yourself, then you have no other language beside your actions. And you try. You try to fit. You go along to get along but the frustration in your heart makes it impossible to play along.
Know what I mean?
Next, you find yourself in compromising positions, doing things you know you’re not supposed, which is fine, until you’re caught —until you’re cornered by someone, maybe it’s a teacher, maybe a principal, maybe it’s a cop or your parents, and then they ask you the most commonly asked question.
They ask you “Why?” to whom you answer, “I don’t know,” of course because there is honestly a part of you that doesn’t know why you do what you do. You’re not even sure why you say what you say. You just do it. But deep down, you know there’s a reason. You know there’s something in there but it doesn’t have a name or a face or anything you can describe.
It’s hard to see you this way, but hey, this is part of the game, right?
We signed up for this, remember?
There is me on my side and you on yours, which is not to say that you or I are against each other, because we’re not.
Not at all.
There is no line between; there’s just a wall you’ve built, which I understand because I have my own walls too.
We all do, as a matter of fact.
I spent most of my life trying to build mine, only now, to take them down.
I have heard the sound of desperateness. I have spoken on its behalf in my own terms and I have seen the lost and misplaced look in the eyes of tragic souls, hoping for something to come along and give them hope. I have had lengthy discussions about the idea of hopelessness, and, as well, I have listened as friends of mine and strangers too, looking for a reason to change their plans and regain their former life.
Just know that I am going to leave this here for now. So, before I go forward and assuming you go beyond this point, please understand this was written in the middle of the night. And more to the point, this was written after learning the sad news about a young man that will never grow older.
I walked inside the main doorways to an upstate facility after a long car ride. I was still sweating out the demons of my last ride, so to speak. I was in a fog or, should I say was making my reentry from my last trip out of the atmosphere. As I was coming down from my high, time moved like a stop action film, one caption after another, and the trip I was on was destined to lead me to someplace I didn’t want to go.