I think I am starting to break down. The constant stress in my life has been hitting me so many times, I don't think I believe in the "makes you stronger" part anymore. As a kid, I think the only reason I never went mad, and there were times I almost did, was the resilience of youth. But the structural damage of 18 years of insecurity, added to another 17 years of trying to build on a faulty foundation, is taking its toll. Sometimes when a car is skidding out of control, and you try and grab the wheel, the world flashes by so fast you fear you might miss seeing something before you collide with it. Light and sound become a blur, and suddenly, you begin to separate yourself from your life. All the screaming of the other passengers, and the spinning scenery around you start to wash out to a neutral grey static. Its almost like there is a numb feeling that starts to take over your senses, a kind of acceptance of death.
I had that feeling once when I came very close in a suicide attempt. Before the tunnel of light, before the feeling of peace and one with the creator, you suddenly don't feel like you're in your own body anymore. It feels as if your spirit becomes separate from the flesh. A weird calm takes over. A numb, warm, calm. No, I am not going to kill myself. One of the things I have realized is I don't have to. Death will come when it wants to, and despite my futile "control" efforts to bring on or postpone death, it comes when it wants to. I attempted suicide five times in three years as a teen, and failed every time. Twice I came close, but I always came back feeling worse. "I am such a loser, I can't even end my own life," I'd say. Now I say, "I don't even want to bother." What I really fear is that my mind will just shut down, like an overheated computer. I fear that I will wake up somewhere, dazed, confused, and not remembering what happened or even who I am. I fear not being there for my family and friends, who while they can exist without me, would probably be mad if I just suddenly was gone with no warning.
Maybe I will have been gone for years; like an autistic vegetable in a hospital somewhere who wakes up because of a new drug added to my IV. Or maybe I ran off into a cold night and just kept going. Suddenly, I am cooking a batch of fries at a Whattaburger in Dallas, and I overhear something from my past, and it occurs to me I am not Nevada Storm Raven, half-Cherokee homeless man who decided to finally get a job so I can get out of the homeless shelter. No, no I was once someone else, but this thought never occurred to me when a volunteer asked me if I had any family somewhere. It would be like amnesia, and not the kind brought on my a head injury, but by my own faulty wiring who couldn't take one more piece of worry on his plate. Now it's 2020, and suddenly, I don't know who I am anymore.
Maybe the sweat lodge would know.
Naah... I couldn't pass myself off as half-Cherokee. I look too much like a fat Viking with glasses. Besides, I doubt I'd go far without SOMEONE recognizing me, and returning me to my family. I could see some random fan drive by in her car, and go, "Oh my god, that's Punkie! Hey, man, people are looking for you, and boy are they mad! Hop in!" I guess that's my God gave me so many friends.
So as I sit here, watching the Weather Channel, seeing the Outer Banks which I love so much getting battered about, knowing that this storm is headed our way, and feeling like I just got shot at by a career sniper I thought left on vacation for a few months, wondering how long I will have my job, nursing a sore ankle, hating that my Saturn wagon died, unable to do more than hobble about, feeling lonely and scared, wondering if my whole ego will explode like a supernova, and generally trying hard to drown out my thoughts while thanking God I don't drink.
Because I'd never stop.
This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000216.html