i put myself into my own hands
i try to lift me up
above the miasma
and can only gather enough
strength to drag myself
through the stench
all the words say
“the only way out is through”
so i bear the rubbish and rust,
ask when it’s going to be my turn,
and count on the constant answer,
“you’re next, just hold on”
and i wait, i wait, wiat, wait
next never comes
in love with my odds…
every single person that never tried,
that one isn’t me
“am i next? is it going to be me?”
“yes son, you’re next, just hold on”
Big Break, for someone in Hollywood, say, an actor, it means something completely different than what it means to me. For both of us, it will be a life-altering event. For the actor, the change he experiences may or may not be permanent. For me, the change is constant. Nothing is ever the same. It’s like I’m living on the edge of a kaleidoscope that is attached to the International Space Station traveling 17,00m mph. At least that is the way it felt most of the time while I was having my Big Break (psychotic break, psychotic episode, mental breakdown, gone bat-shit crazy). Part of the time, though, I felt like I was moving at a snail’s pace. That feeling only applied to me, everything else was moving at normal, if not accelerated pace. This was the case with the little men trying to get into my apartment. They were climbing through windows, coming up my porch downspout and pushing open my front door faster than I could sweep them out. Because I was moving so slow, they were moving even faster. I couldn’t even get my pistol and shotgun out fast enough to get them all out. Luckily, the guns were kept locked up and the little men, somehow disappeared.
That amounts to the sum total of what I can remember of my Big Break. The slow parts continue to this day. They have gotten better. I don’t usually feel as though I am completely slowed down. Not physically anyway. Though it does frequently happen to me mentally. I notice it most often when I am writing or speaking. A thought or idea will enter my mind and it will feel as though it is wading through mud. It will take an eternity for me to find the right word or words to express the idea. This is frustrating when I’m writing but when I’m having a conversation with someone it can be very embarrassing. I’ve been working on the problem for over a year now and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. It looks like the sticky mind is here to stay. If I were in Hollywood and the result of my Big Break was something like this, I’d probably be heading back to my home town in search of other opportunities. I’m not, so I have no choice but to keep working at it.
It is never as easy as it may seem, and that is more frustration than any person needs to endure. But we do, don’t we? How is it possible that we as a being on this planet come to accept so many things that are so unthinkable at the beginning? Once we think them and get used to them and live with them they become more acceptable. The longer they are with us, the easier they are on us. In the end it makes us harder on ourselves. So where do we place the blame for things we find unacceptable?
I’ve been writing all night but I haven’t come up with much. I’m stuck on trying to express something about forgiveness. It doesn’t seem to be working very well. I’m a bit frustrated. So, I offer up these two haiku to end the evening.
stars before your eyes
the milky way is so clear
beyond the city
the other side of
the pillow draws you back to
some much needed sleep