Narative of a Mad man

I knew you would come. I wasn’t sure when but I knew you were going to show up sooner or later. I’ve been waiting. I’ve been thinking. It’s not something you think everyday but most people are waiting for it.

I knew it would happen this way.

If you think about it enough, you can figure out how you’re gonna go. You just feel it. The same way you feel what you want to do with your life or what you’re having for dinner next Tuesday. Most people just choose to ignore it. They don’t want to think of it. Too depressing and sometimes rightly so.

I know it’s there. A sense of doom surrounding me every time my mind wanders. A cloak of vague darkness shrouding my thoughts. Waiting like a stalking butler, who upon the finger rests.

The night is the worst.

I used to love the night. My favorite time of day. No people. No sounds. No lights. Just myself and the darkness. I could do anything I wanted. The night is free. Controlled by no one. Free. That’s how I felt. Listening to the sound of the wind under the moon and clouds. It was a feeling unable to express in words. Excitement. Freedom. Grandeur. And the ever present feeling that you were doing something that most don’t. That feeling of going against the grain. Of silently fighting the world and its customs.

People think that’s how the world is. You wake up at sunrise sleep at sunset. Only awake during the hours of the sun. WE ARE NOT WILD ANIMALS. WE ARE NOT MEANT TO FEAR PREDATORS IN THE NIGHT. That’s how our ancestors did it. Hide at night. Only leave safety under the protection of the sun. This is not who we are anymore. We are not meant to live as our unevolved ancestors.

We are not supposed to be afraid of the night.

We are the children of the night.

Then, in ultimate betrayal, it turned against me. The night is no longer a safe haven for my dreams. It is a place I cannot escape. At night my mind wanders into paths that most would consider insane. Most men are not fit to think such thoughts. Emptiness and loneliness weighing down on me. Feeling like I’m drowning with a lung full of air. Depression to the point of numbness.

And not the good numbness. Not the kind that frees you. It’s the kind that makes you feel worse. Your feelings, thoughts and emotions don’t match. Feelings of hopelessness despair and tinyness.

In the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy, there’s a torture device called the Total Perspective Vortex. “When you are put into the Vortex you are given just one momentary glimpse of the entire unimaginable infinity of creation, and somewhere in it a tiny little mark, a microscopic dot on a microscopic dot, which says, “You are here.”” this is what my mind causes me to think. Only that instead of just the universe, I see myself in time, as in only this one moment compared to the vastness of time itself. In it I am seemingly worthless, useless. And instead of an instant, it lasts for hours.

No place to go. Nothing to do. Except let it take over.

I knew it would come to this because I know that I am weak. It’s terrible to admit that because I always liked to think that I’m a strong person, that I had a head up on the rest of the world. What a fool. I’m weak. There’s only so much I can take.

The only way that I could, the only thing that made me strong was having something. Something to look forward to. Something to live for. Whatever it was, it had to be something. Something great, brilliant and ethereal. This is how I based my life. I thought I could get through anything as long as I had something to hold onto.

The general rule of thumb was that it always had to be something that wouldn’t last. That would break. That would end worse than it had started. It always does. It never lasts.
I thought I was so brilliant. I thought that it would work. But the fatal flaw was staring me in the face. The flaw was in the something. The flaw was that it would soon be lost.
And then what? What do I do when I lose that something. What can I do? Look for something else? Why? What?
When I know that nothing will last why look?
How can I look for something when I know that nothing can match what I had?

Depression comes in waves. Like the wave the great Hunter S. Thompson spoke of. Maybe it will finally crash. And I can stand on the edge of my future and see where it broke.

He inspired his piece. His writing style is so similar to the way I always wanted mine. Any admirer of his can tell you after reading this the attempted similarities.
Thompson shot himself. He was old. 67. Never wanted to be that old and saw to it that it wouldn’t be much longer. The last writings of a legend, “Feb 22 ‘05” and a single word, “counselor”. On a typewriter.

Typewriters kick ass.

Who knows what this enigmatic message meant. 4 days prior a note was delivered to his wife. “No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won’t hurt.”

This man was a genius.

Depression. What to do with it. I don’t know. Who knows. Nobody.

‘Let it pass’. How long do I wait?

‘Do something else’. What can I do to escape my mind?

‘Hang in there’. WHAT DO I HANG ON TO?

When I broke the branch I held on to, high in wonderful tree above the savages and ravages of this world, when the branch I held to support myself; to escape, breaks, what then? What then, if the pain comes from losing that which held me up?

Narative of a Mad man


Joined October 2009

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

A slightly exaggerated narrative of my personal state of mind

Artwork Comments

  • PJ Ryan
  • peeweeshaman
  • Chaharra Gilman
  • peeweeshaman
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