Photo: Noam Galai
[Spicy category for a little swearing. This is one of those pretentious artful pieces meant to describe the intense feeling of trying to convince yourself that you are insane and failing miserably. I was inspired by a freak out scene in a movie where someone was losing their shit, however, the woman’s performance was marred by the fact that she was doing everything she could to avoid hurting herself, while she was fitting. Was still a great scene, but made me think, ‘That is someone trying to convince their self that they are bonkers, but they’re really not.]
I tread in a lake of madness and insanity. I know it is a body of water that has held many a piranha, but they aren’t here now. I think they may know. Yes. They know my meat is contaminated with a sickness that spreads with little effort. I want them to come; devour me and this sickness along with. Why won’t they just … FUCKING … COME!
My mind is about to break. I can feel it coming. That is not the predatory fish come to consume, but the demons of past mistakes, and unforgiven transgressions against me and against others. My unforgiveness and the unforgiveness of my enemies. Anger, sadness, self loathing, depression, empathy, apathy, and a touch of disillusioned narcissism–these are the emotions that thrash apart the mind I can no longer inhabit. I need … to … what? Something. Scream? Tear at my face? Pull out my hair? Something.
The street is empty. Alone. Back road separating two full seemlessly never-ending forests made from different realities, neither of which, I belong. Here is as good a place as any and I drop to my knees, careful not to bang them too hard on the rough and cracked pavement. I inhale deeply, twitching as I hold in the breath, while trying to compress as much screaming power into my lungs as I can possibly muster. Eventually my chest can no longer support any more air, as tiny little slips keep releasing small quantities that could be used to bolster my break with sanity.
I let it out and I don’t stop till the breath is gone. It is guttural, and disturbing that sound, but to no one else, except me, since I am completely and utterly alone. Surreality comes in the form of a psychotic episode out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Oh, if they could see me now, as I begin my intense theater showing of my interpretive dance called “The Dance of Insanity”. I have simply lost the plot, and can not read back a couple paragraphs in order to re-establish my place and understanding.
The muscles in my arms begin to constrict in an almost painful way. I say almost because I am losing the battle to stay in the world of the well adjusted. The world where, when you feel pain you try your damnedest to stop what is causing it. Yet it is hurting and I know this, so I let my arms, both, convulse and flail. Look at me, No one! I’m crazy! Come play with me! I get up and start humping the air as if its a lovely lady needing a ripe and raw slathering of my crazy pumped into it. My head is actually thinking this, as part of me says “Jeez, now you’re just being ridiculous.” Fuck off, you! Whose gonna know?
It’s time to go for broke. I enter into a manic routine that has me flailing and buckling all over the street. I begin to strip off my clothes, not because that’s what lunatics do, but because wow did it ever get hot! I am sweating from head to toe, as I shake my head and torso to some song of cicadas, crickets, and bats, plays in the moonlight. My clothes are flung all over the road, and I purposefully kick them to the side. You know, just in case a car comes. Wouldn’t want them to think… as if to test my theory, before I even finished thinking it, headlights. The sound of a motor. A car.
Performance over. I dive into the grass, fully nude, grabbing at my clothes. The car stops. I duck in the grass and wait. I hear and see the window roll down.
“Hello? Anyone out there? Is everything alright?” Came a man’s voice from behind the wheel. “Honey, call the cops.”
“Oh… there’s no need for that.” I say, standing up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you worry. I live up the way and was out for a walk. I was enjoying the full moon and thought, ‘what the hell, why not?’ and decided to strip down and do a little … ahem … moon bathing. Stupid I know, but wasn’t expecting anyone to drive by, and certainly not get worried!”
“Never mind, hunny! Ha! It’s alright, man! You just never know, these days!” The man laughed, as did his lady companion. “I am so sorry, though. I guess out here it can feel a little secluded, and people want to let off some steam, and don’t expect to be interrupted and embarrassed. We’ll leave you to it! Have fun. You only live once, right?!”
“Yea, will do. Bye now!”
The couple could be heard cracking up as the window went up, and the car continued up the road. What an idiot I was. You’re not insane. You’re a fucking moron, is what you are! I thought to myself. I got dressed then, and went home.
Moral of the story: If you think you might be crazy, you’re not! Insane people don’t care that they look insane. We all get stressed and need some sort of release sometimes, but remember, try your best to keep yourself from doing something you think you might regret if you were in the right frame of mind. After all, if you think you might regret something, chances are you probably ARE in the right frame of mind already.