A memoir, a letter, a memory

May 22, 2024

When you sit there with your thoughts so dark and deep, reaching out help help help, I’m waving the flag. My ship is sinking and it’s not that I can’t get off, but I don’t want to. It’s scary out there. I know the boat is going down, I can see it. I’m not blind, and if I was, the water slowly creeping up my calves would be a pretty good give away that something’s not right here. But, I know this boat. I don’t know the ocean. I know I can’t stay here, but it’s more familiar than the vast openness of the open ocean. Do I jump in? Or do I make a truly cowardly decision to go down with the ship because I was scared to start swimming? I dunno, man. But that’s the predicament I find myself in at 3:59 am on a Wednesday in May. Why was humanity thrust into this giant existential crisis we call life against our choice? What is a soul, why are we the way we are? We have brains, but so do mice. Biological function drives behavior in the barest sense of the word, maszlos hierarchy of needs and all that. But truly…why does the mouse seek out only the cheese? Survival. Why do humans do what they do? Good fucking question. I keep hearing the whole Steve Irwin crocodile quite, that crocodiles are easy. It’s humans that are hard. Crocodiles will only try to kill you, humans will sometimes pretend to be your friend first. And it’s a terrible cheesy cliche, but dang if it ain’t true.

Im not sure, really, where I’m going with any of this. Other than I need to get it out. I need to start the healing again. And that’s more exhausting than anything else, so perhaps this will one day be a memoir. A survival guide. Or maybe just some good old fashioned on the John reading. 🤷🏻‍♀️ have at it, I’ll update whenever I have more to get out.