I’m being followed 6 feet behind me by an invisible man. I hear his boots crunch on invisible leaves making me check over my left shoulder multiple times a day. He’s inconsiderately close behind me, breathing down my neck and making me pick up my speed so that he won’t purposefully step down on the heel of my shoe and forcing my foot out of its enclosure, making me come to a stop, allowing the invisible man to breath down my neck, and make my spine tingle in alarm from my perceived weakness in the moment. I do not like the invisible man, and I don’t think he particularly likes me.
The helicopters don’t like me either. I drive down the freeway. A helicopter flies overhead. It is keeping tabs on me. There is no other reason for why I would see that helicopter every day as I drive Friant to Ashlan and then Ashlan back to Friant. I don’t even speed. . . more than anyone else. Sometimes I worry that I did something really bad while in a fugue state.
I am in the twilight zone at work, asking the same questions over and over again for eight hours. I get scared that I am in a time warp and that I am reliving the same three-minute customer interaction infinitely. How many times have I stopped myself from asking if the man in front of me has a rewards card? Surely, I’ve asked this same man twice already. If I stop paying close enough attention then I will fall into the void. I have only visited twice before, and those times weren’t fun. Sense of touch and sound gets lost in the void.
I am very worried that I am going crazy, but crazy people aren’t self-aware of their own craziness, right? I was told today that sometimes they are.
The problem is that I have been trying to hold my sense of self together for so long that existential crises have begun to bleed through into my psyche. They say that every cell in the human body has completely regenerated after 7 years making you an entirely new person, but then why do I still have a small scar on my upper thigh from when I was in fourth grade? Maybe, it is a psychological regeneration, but then why am I still not speaking to my mother regularly after 8 years? Maybe, Gaston was right and we need to lose some screws to keep our sanity overall intact. Otherwise, we would all lose ourselves under the exertion of force (life).
“The crowd breaks into applause and the Panther casually gets up and picks up the screws. He looks at me, knowing I have more questions for him. He eats a screw. All you need to know is that our bodies aren’t built to handle the constant pressure of life and that’s why we lose screws. You’d go insane if it was any different he tells me, as he eats another screw and laughs.” – Source: Unsanitary Sipping , Gaston Villanueva
My Western Civilizations professor lost her screw sometime in 1970s from what I presume. Of course, her lost screw would have her focusing on the past. It’s all history. Last week, she went from talking about Austria to lapsing into a deep reverie over loving and leaving a man she once cared for. He would compulsively pull over whenever he was driving to pick up the dirty cardboard stranded in the middle of L.A. roads and place it inside his car (the only place his mind allowed him to place these scraps). She was perched on top of a pile of these cardboard pieces by the time she realized he would never choose her over the disorder that he quite frankly could not control. She left a screw on the side of the road in Los Angeles when she realized he would never change. I don’t think he ever managed to pull over to pick up that lost piece of her’s.
My Humanities professor is another case of an exertion of force. Screws he hasn’t let go of. He would tell our class how he couldn’t get out of bed the day before. He would let us know that we could come up to say hello to him at anytime as it is obvious he exudes loneliness. I was and am deeply saddened by this charming man. I wanted to tell him that I can’t get out of bed either sometimes. I wanted to make his brain chemistry right again, so that he could feel the compresence* of every human life when the sun is lowering towards the horizon at dusk (as I do). But all I did was walk out of class looking at the ground, while trying to keep control of my own loosening screws.
I wish I could tell you that I knew where I was going from here, but I don’t. I wish we didn’t fear the evolution of our own beings: to lose each and every screw, leaving our mentally constructed barriers behind.
I still fear the invisible man, helicopter surveillance, and the void, but I am still in the process of change, so forgive me as I am still clutching at the familiar: inner chaos.
In time, peace will come.
as well as. . .
*compresence: the quality or state of being present together
All pictures credited to Google Images.