August 3, 2011: I think I'm crazy...

I think I've gone mad.
I ran away today. No one was home and I somehow found my way back, so I guess I didn't really run away. I had the intention to at least. That's what matters isn't it? What was I running from you may ask? Well ladies and gentleman come in close, I'm sure though, that it will come to you as no surprise. I was running from life.

How silly, absurd, lunatic, crazy, ridiculous, idiotic, illogical, inane, foolish.

But it's not.

I ran away today from life. I woke up and piled through the mountain of grimy clothes in my hamper, hoping to find something I only wore once from the past two weeks. I was unsuccessful but I didn't care. I figured, if I'm running away, why does it matter what I look like? They are always going to just look for me. My face will stay the same, my physical features.

I ran away today from the fear of life and returning to it. So I went to the obvious place where life doesn't much dwell. The graveyard. There I could freely think without the cloud of judgment surrounding me like the Police who had just caught a harbored fugitive. But in some way I was a fugitive. I was running from my very existence, as if it was the law and I had broken it and I was running far, far, far away from it so I wouldn't have to put up with it for the rest of my miserable life. Like I said earlier, logically the graveyard was the only place I knew I could go to be safe. Life does not much care for bodies that are rotting in the ground; becoming food for the organisms that have broken into the coffins.

When I arrived of course there was no movement in the hallow place where bodies rest. No movement, no life. Headstone after headstone I kept walking to the furthest part. I came upon the hill that overlooked the town. I saw the sunshine down upon the lake and I watched it as it reflected off in little sparks into my swollen eyes. I looked down. It was a long way down from the top to the road that led to some suburban houses on the way. I thought of jumping.

Surely if I had jumped it would be quite instant of a death. I also thought, what if I landed wrong? I could still be alive and have to live on paralyzed and broken. A thought then crossed my mind, how long would it take them to find me? I soon found my answer when an old man came out across his yard toward the road to his mailbox. It would be all of maybe two hours and the police would be called and everything would go to shit. What if I did it now? The old man out there, getting mail would surely not be ready for a body to come just out of the sky and land in front of him. Either he would take it as a sign from god that the world was about to end or have a heart attack and it could be a week till they found the pair of us, that was if he was not married. I kept peering over the edge. The old man walked back into his house. I missed my opportunity. Next time... maybe.

I took a step back and headed to a headstone and rested against it. The name was too worn off for me to talk to it by name. So I gave it a name, I named it Hanson. It was the only letter I could make out from the worn part. I sat there and I talked to this Hanson.
“Hey there Hanson, how's it goin'?” Was this the proper way to start a conversation with a dead guy? 'Hey I know you're dead and all but how's life treatin' ya?'
I got no response anway, so I kept talking.
“You know Hanson, I was wondering what it's like to be dead? Do you go off into a light and find yourself in 'heaven' looking down on everyone? Do we look like ants from up there?”
Again, I received no reply. I kept going.
“I think I might be ready.” Now I don't think it's weird to talk to a grave of someone you obviously don't know, especially if you don't know their real name because it was worn off. However, if a bunch of people were there, I'm sure they would want to have me committed. I would be able to feel their judgment stabbing me in my bony back, then they would go on to talk about it later and then happen to tell their friends that they saw this crazy guy talking to a grave alone today. This is why I liked the graveyard, nobody judges you, because no body is alive!

“I've been thinking about it a lot and something inside me feels like it's just time you know?”
I kept talking and talking. I talked about politics. I talked about my life story. I talked about my wretched cousin that I hate so much. I talked about how love always seems to bite me in the ass. I talked about how I don't know if I'm ready for college. I talked about what made me happy, what made me sad, what made me angry and what made me ready to die.
I found out Hanson wasn't really much of a talker. I was okay with that though, I needed someone to listen. Someone who couldn't put their opinion into the matter and get tired of listening to me. I'm sure though up in 'Heaven' he was either listening or yelling at me to shut the fuc.......

“Is it worth it?”

…....

I think I've gone mad.
Or maybe I've become sane?
It really depends on the way you look at it, I guess.
I realized after my talk to Hanson. I am trapped. In a bell jar, much of that like Sylvia Plath. There is an invisible force field that makes me want to just quit and give up. Sometimes it's lifted up to let me go on a few steps, then drop when I've gone all the steps I can take.

“to the person in The Bell Jar, black and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.”