Aug the Thirty-First (cont’d)
Sept the First
A lot happened yesterday. The last day of August might have been one of the strangest, most complicated days of my life. It’ll be a day I never forget, that’s for sure. Mayhap even a day I relive in my dreams – my nightmares, more accurately – for a long time.
I’m not going to record most of it. Trauma is funny like that; some things happen in life that you never want to go through again, things so god-awful and mortifying that you shove them all the way to the back of your mind in an attempt to never have to experience them again, but the memories are like energy: they never really go away. Not unless you have some kind of terrible disease that rots your brain away from the inside. Unless you’re stricken with the Plague of Decay, or any real-world variant of it, you will eventually relive your past. There’s just no escaping it.
And that’s okay.
If I have to go through yesterday again in a dream, I will. If my brain really finds it necessary to force me to relive those harrowing, mind-splitting, peace-shattering events, then I will. Because my brain knows better than me. If I have some shit to deal with and the only way to deal with it is to relive it over and over and over again, then I will relive it. Because that’s what I have to do.
What I will not do, however, is relive those events on purpose. I love to write, I’m starting to think I might even love it more than I love smoking weed, but there’s a certain kind of power in writing… at least in my writing, at least to me. When I write about things that happened in my life, I see them play out in my head and let my instrument do the rest. I see them play out vibrantly. Sometimes, it almost feels like I’m back there again, and I never want to go back to yesterday on my own accord. It was just too much… way too much.
There is one part of yesterday I need to relive, though. One action I need to revisit in my mind so I can see it play out in real time, because when it actually happened yesterday… I don’t know. It was like I wasn’t there. I didn’t remember it when I woke up, and part of me still doesn’t believe it happened, even after my folks told me exactly what I did. It came back to me in fragments over the course of the day – it’s night now; I spent almost all day resti–… recuperating, that’s the right word – and I still don’t have a totally clear picture. There are gaps here and there. There might be more gaps than there are whole pieces, truth be scrawled. But out of everything that went down yesterday, this thing I’m about to write was the worst. That’s why I’m forcing myself to relive it, so I can perhaps get an understanding of why it happened the way it happened.
That’s not the only reason, though. That’s the tip of the iceberg, but there’s an underlying reason. A bigger reason. The real reason.
I never want it to fucking happen again. So here goes:
… … …
Journal, I had a psychotic breakdown last night. The last thing I remember – my last moment of coherence – is walking down the steps of my parents’ porch after spooking some deer who were chowing down on the compost pile. I thought they were bigfoot, you see, and that gave me an idea for that THC novel I want to write, which is great. What’s not so great is the fact that I started across my backyard whilst WHOOPing into the woods, as if to taunt the alleged bigfoot.
The rest is anecdotal, but I believe every word.
According to my parents, I started screaming. At the top of my lungs. I flipped a shit, Journal, I was screaming expletives and throwing shit into the woods and I guess I even threw my pipe, because that’s gone. The only reason they think I was throwing shit is because the backyard was clean of debris this morning, but it was not when they got home yesterday. It makes sense; what, did the deer move all the branches? Or was it bigfoot?
Neither. It was me, and I threw The Peace Piece away. And it’s gone now, gone for good. But the night didn’t stop there.
My parents came out and grabbed me–… they hugged, “grabbed” sounds dark, they wrapped me in a bear hug from both sides but I was struggling, I was flailing around, and I broke myself free of their hold. I knocked my mother off her feet, Journal, I shoved my adoptive mother so hard she fell over! What the fuck is wrong with me?!
But that’s not the worst of it. It only gets fucking worse.
I ran. Barefooted and wearing only pajama pants, I sprinted full speed into the woods, screaming incoherently. My words were incoherent, at least, but my intention was plainly clear: I was trying to kill bigfoot. I thought a bigfoot had followed me from The True Commons, and I tried to run into the woods so I could kill it. And apparently at some point I tripped and hit my head, because there’s a goddamn egg sticking out above my left eye like a blunt fucking horn. My dad eventually found me – I had climbed a tree, you see, to get a better view of the forest so I could find bigfoot, I guess – and I wouldn’t come down voluntarily, so he started climbing it like a good father, like the world’s greatest adoptive father, and so I kicked him. I don’t think I actually hit him because I was high to the point of incoherency and loss of memory – yeah, it was just the high that caused this. Totally. Keep telling yourself that, Sidney – but I tried to. I tried to hurt him because he was helping me.
Eventually he grabbed my ankle and pulled me down, but I still wouldn’t come all the way. According to my dad I was hanging from a branch like it was a jungle gym until the branch finally broke and I fell. He caught me, and I guess I was so exhausted at that point that I couldn’t keep fighting, and he brought me home. Cleaned me up. Put me in bed. And I slept.
And when I woke up… a fucking alcohol-poisoning hangover would have been preferable, I mean Jesus fucking Christ. I’m still out of it, tell you the truth. I’m lucid enough to write all this and go through it in my head, but I’m really fucking fuzzy. What if I got a concussion? What If my parents didn’t come outside, what if Jeremy didn’t chase me? What if I ran and ran and ran until I collided with a tree and then fell over and hit my head on a rock? What if I got myself so psychotically worked up that I had a seizure out there and choked on my tongue? I could have fucking died last night, Journal, and for what? So I could spend the day smoking a week’s worth of fucking weed? Fuck that shit. Fuck all that shit.
… … …
One thing is for sure above everything else: I’m taking a break from the weed. I’m taking a long, long break. I might never smoke again… or at least, not until I’m finished writing this novel. I don’t know anything about it except a very general plot and a couple characters, but I know I’m writing it. So… I guess something good came out of all this nonsense.
Life is strange, Journal. Life is hard, but it’s stranger than it is hard. If it was impossible then there wouldn’t be so many humans on the planet, right? I think so. Sometimes my life feels harder than other folks’ lives, but… and I’m just figuring this out now, after reliving the worst part of the wors–… of the strangest day of my life… but maybe things get to be so hard for me because I’m living my life… wrong.
There, I said it. Maybe I’m living my life wrong, and that’s why it’s so hard. Maybe not, but maybe so. Probably so, I’d go as far as saying. I don’t know. I’m tired. I’m really, really tired.
… … …
I think that’s enough. I can go to sleep now. I lounged around on the internet all day, but that’s not real rest. I need some real rest.
Say thankya, Journal. ‘Preciate ya. Good sleeps and good dreams~
Hello Commons, this has been the next journal entry from Untitled Bigfoot Project, a novel about a writer who writes a novel about bigfoot.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
If you like Untitled Bigfoot Project and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy of the book (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here.
Be well Commons~