Fall 2010, Volume 9

Nonfiction by Eye See

Here is the Plan Number One

...to get off the medication, but how will I know if it really will work this time around. Maybe I really am what they say I am. How am I supposed to know? But I cannot stand living life on these damn medications always second guessing everything that comes along. It is way too hard emotionally and life is too difficult when people are always taking cheap shots. And you have these other people telling you to bottle everything in and not let anyone know what is going on with you because for some damn reason you are not supposed to let anyone in on your little world. (And damn mom I simply fucked up right now, I gave out my birth date when you had told me not to) I break for all mistakes and I make too many and I am hurting right now. My soul hurts from all the wonder and the plunder and the thinking of rhythms and rhymes and they all try to get me out of my groove. And man the thing is that my music could not even help me last night. Nothing could get me in the groove. I am dying from the inside out. This disease has got me rotting from the core of my brain down to the back of my spine. I am nothing but a worthless disease filled with anger and hate for those and somewhat myself for putting me in this position. It was fun for a damn season but it turned into treason being the reason why nothing works anymore. My soul hurts.  I mean can you really fathom what it means to have your soul hurt. Every day you live, someone has to play some mind filled fantasy game with you and I can’t even put these words out right because they are a game in themselves. I wish I could smoke my mind into mush and not have one single thought pass through anymore and then it would be nice, simple silence. Nothing more nothing less. They try to hold you back through the widow's red belly but she already devoured her prey and now she will let you go. And now these drugs are starting to take their toll on you. For some reason people like to look at you and laugh, well at least that is the way it seems, that is the way it dreams. Nobody could ever be a friend and say “Hi, how’s it going?” And leave it at that. It is always oh you can’t do this or you can’t do that. And then my mind starts running around like are you gay over here and are you gay over there, but I am too much of a fucking little bitch ass pussy to ask anybody one question? That is because I have been brainwashed by this dysfunctional family to keep everything bottled up. They say keep this in, oh yes, and surely keep that in. Come on it is good for you, and it is better for me and for our reputation. Maybe one day when I erupt and explode they will know that something was not sitting right with me. 

So was there ever that sensation in your head that you either drank too much the night before or smoked too much of what you were smoking the night before (don’t worry I will not call you out on what you were smoking). See, that sensation is a common feeling in my head. My brain is losing cells every day and they tell me that is normal and there is nothing to worry about. What the hell is that? I am losing control of what brain cells are in my head and you are telling me not to worry about it. It is a bit easier said than done. It is difficult to even concentrate on one task let alone speak and stand up for myself. And every day I want to stand up and make everyone else look like a fool but those are tricks I got from a movie. Like stand up one day and shout out “No I am not gay!” but then that interrupts the whole class, everyone looks and is embarrassed. Then people are called crazy and chairs get thrown, punches get blown. All I want and all I am trying to say is I want a normal life. A normal thought pattern. Not one insane thought to run through my head. And I want to reach like a man and be a man, not some damn little bitch anymore. I want to be able to stand up with my head held high. I want to turn the tables and the sands of time with all my wrongs and turn them into rights. I want to sweep away those who need not be here. I try not to insult people but I end up insulting myself in the picture. I try not to offend people but I end up offending myself in the picture. I try not to hurt people but I end up hurting myself in the picture. They look at me and what do they all see beside defeat and chaos in the big picture. They look at me and see confused and unsettled unruliness, I cannot wipe those looks from my face. This has not gone well for me. Should I go to prosecute those who have done so much to put my life in the shambles it has sometimes been. To the dark place it has sometimes gone with no way out but the dusk until dawn. It seems like everyone I know goes back to worshiping Jesus and giving him all the credit to why their life is still so fucked up. I wish I had some heroin to simply relax, hangout, kickback, and calm down. But no, instead I let people get the best of me every day and every night. But maybe by the time we have gotten over only a few things it will be time to yet again join some other things. (I say fuck the god(s) of this plain) But hey, we will see when it all goes away. It seems as though they could all be testing me. Maybe since I was such a jackass growing up this is simply payback time. For all those times I pushed someone against a table or a rose bush cutting them for a reason that I cannot really remember other than to do it for fun. Or ripping somebody’s underwear by giving them a wedgy. Maybe it is sort of like that television show about karma and the justice that it dishes out. I am getting a full taste of it and I do not really like the taste, it needs more seasoning. This is for all the waste of having nothing to show for my misdeeds; this is for saying I am an artist or a writer or a musician or anything of that sort and not doing anything about it. I know right now I am wasting time not doing anything except writing when I should be reading but this needs to get done too. This soul is damaged goods. Writing is like surgery and reading is like the blood transfusion. 

The pressure in my head builds up and up and up. It is getting tighter with each and every step and things are getting heavier like we went to some distant planet with a heavier gravitational pull. The world is falling from under my feet as it is collapsing on top of me. Maybe that girl is waiting for me in the mailbox maybe she is not but what I am thinking is should I put myself through that type of pain and suffering as I always do. One thing that troubles me more than anything is that I would rather eat than go hang out with friends. And I want to start becoming more social and I want to start getting out there but I am starting to think that me and being social is not a good combination. I am probably going to start shutting off from the world, well most likely. Because I put myself out there in the world and I get hurt. But the more you read the more you see the “more you know.” Fuck man, everything is a goddamn brainwashing. I saw that straight from a television commercial. The “more you know.” Every walk of life we turn to is a damn brain washing and in some forms it is really a hindrance and a handicap. I work and walk with those every day of my life. I start up. But is this a coherent thought. Is a message being conveyed? I suppose it does not really matter. The more I lay down in silence the more it reminds me of confinement and that sort of life. A life where equal is not equal and one day to the next is not thought of as such. Some people are going through the same things and I am wondering when confinement will or if it ever will find me again for the things that I have done. For words I have said. I have made mistakes and I have had triumphs. But more mistakes than triumphs. I tried to do this thing of starting over where I erased every girl's number from my phone except my sisters, but now that I think about it I should probably erase theirs too. Everything is subject to change as these days wear on with the hiding of the rivers beneath the trees. I hold fast the simpleness of simple things. But I leave a damn message on a girl's answering machine and it throws me off because she is speaking Spanish and it takes me for a turn. A round about turn, something about kisses, I got this number a while ago when she left it on my message box to tell me something or to simply say hello and that was it and for some reason I kept the number and I wanted to see what it was all about so I kept it and I called it today. I think she is one of those girls looking for generous men so we shall see what it is all about. But there is a damn loop hole in the system.

I am sick of all these expectations that everyone is making fun of me and having a laugh at my expense. That is the damn loop hole. I know it seems like I am complaining and whining, but is it only me noticing or does this happen to other people? It is like every time I try to do something and put myself out there it is not good. I do not want to call them what they are or say what I have because then that would be me simply bitching. Or maybe I should start saying what I have so people would understand me better and get a better picture of who I am and maybe on some common ground we could all find out how to work together and work for a common goal. Maybe it might be time to start setting things right and set some type of dialogue between me and other people as to what type of ailment ails me. Or should I save it for another semester and chalk this one up as a loss. See, but there is more than the ailments. There are things like, well other things, that happened that are difficult to talk about and it is difficult to cover in the scope of the words that come across these pages. I tried writing it down for an ex-girlfriend of mine because it was too difficult to say and she basically put me down to a bottle of nothing because I did not actually say it with my mouth; I wrote it down instead.

No, I am beginning to unravel at the seams, at least it seems. I am so stuck I do not know what to do anymore. I am in a deep blackened area down far from earth's top soil and it might not be possible to get back to the top. It is cold and lonely in this realm, difficult to breathe or see anybody else up here, difficult to get noticed; I can hardly think. The slums are starting to come out and back and forth like before and they trap you from the inside and they take you out, tell you what to do from below the willow tree before you go under the breeze. The words are starting to not come out as easily. One thing that will come out a bit easier is that girls and me do not seem to mix well. It is painful to see what is killing me. I do not know how many more years I have on this plain, I cannot make it in Maine. I do not know if tomorrow will be better or worse. I am hanging on by a thin hair one day at a time. Nothing is going right though, that is for damn sure, not one fucking thing. I had my glory days already and no way or chance in hell to ever, ever come back in this light again. Nothing helps anymore. What I would do to change some things around a bit and live in a different struggle. Instead of struggling with friends, sanity, and girls, but hey, everyone struggles with those things I suppose. So to downplay my own issues even further I am perfectly fine, nothing is wrong. Shit, that has to be the biggest lie of the century and the century barely started, so that is saying something. No other time to introduce it like now, well medically and psychologically I have been diagnosed to have some issues, problems. So these lies we speak of have truth in the fact that they are lies. That is where the truth remains. The truth is only a minimal amount though not too dismal. These thoughts get all wrapped up and I cannot get them out of this head of mine, fuck I hate this. This brain is so damn damaged it is a trap for flies and mosquitoes and every other pest known to mankind and they run around and then you do something like go up to a girl and say “can I ask you a random question” and she looks at you with disgust like you are a worthless piece of scum and you have nothing to live for. Like you are the thing that scum feeds off of. And then this fact of reality hits when that moment of sacredness comes in and you are hit with a situation of brim oxidation and these girls and these other people know how to work it and they know how to go on in stride. They got me all hung up on the wasting time. Damn now I cannot even write, the words are getting distorted and nothing is coming out as it should. Things are not working that should be working. Admit all I have is the word “bitch” stuck in my head and I cannot think of anything else. It is like that word is labeled to me or I am labeling that word to everyone around me. It seems as though the same mistakes are getting made. Over and over again, and back to the realm of the trees where everyone goes and where everyone sees. Nobody could ever break down the tributes of the fallen, but we could try to see what these things have come to know. I think I will let it all go. I am so tightly sprung together it is not even fun anymore. This mold must be broken. But to be free is no easy task; it is only fought by the arms and the fire from the stones. Nothing less nothing more. I could feel the cold breeze taking over my body. I read all the books and I look for all the crooks. But something about this plain is still keeping me here, it is possible to see what the next day, what the next emotion will bring. What the next situation has in store and what is waiting on the next side of the fence. Maybe this is a ride that has only one fixed end and I know the ending already, but the middle of the story is fixed with so many uncertainties. But strange thing is that it is fixed, so if it is fixed with a certainty then how can there be uncertainties. This is one ride. There has to be some fun to it along the way, I mean I am not a complete drone, well I am, but this drone still could manage to squeeze out a few laughs here and there and everywhere. The past is behind the shade tree and the sunflower shines bright before the next winds come.

 

BIO: I grew up in Pico Rivera, the youngest of four children. Working with what I knew, I got to Long Beach City College and am trying to get my A. A.   At twenty four years old, I am simply trying to find my way in the world.