Those books always were my favorite. Honestly it wasn’t for some amazing philosophical reason, I just hated reading, and the chance that I could technically finish a book without reading every page was extremely appealing.
Bambi is the one I remember best, I always ended up on page seven or some page way before the halfway mark, and id read some age-appropriate morbid sentence about how I had chosen the wrong destiny and had ended up killing the damn deer. That would be the absolute best feeling. Not the death part.. I wasn’t crazy, it was the idea that I had evaded the plight of reading another word, of continuing on in some perfunctory manner pretending to enjoy the “process” of reading; pretending that I was (consciously) benefiting from such an activity. I would lead Bambi into the woods, or not share a carrot or whatever, and just like that, I was finished. Thank you to the author of THOSE books- you earned me a few personal pan pizzas that I truly DID NOT deserve.
So why at six a.m may 21st 2010 am I writing about a book I haven’t read in over a decade? Because I’ve recently diagnosed myself with a mild case of depression. Since I’m trying to lose weight, I can’t take to alcohol to qualm my pain. Since we have no cable, I can’t repress my thoughts with the sex, scandals, and love that characterize current television. But instead, I have chosen to address my pain via word document.
During those years I formed a nasty little habit. Of evading. Of escaping. Of making the not-so-best decisions in order to reach some end. Then it was a Bambi’s death- ok, not so big a deal. Now, it’s my death- not yet physical, but you know there’s other stuff. My spiritual death, my emotional demise, I mean I’m a multifaceted being. Like a cat with nine lives, except the whole body isn’t restored upon the use of the succeeding life: the use of one life isn’t a strike on a blackboard, it’s a paralyzed limb [hope that makes sense].
It’s hard for me to go to sleep nowadays. I pull all-nighters for no reason. I look for things to blame, “a good book,” “great hulu series,” “espresso shots,” etc, but they all aren’t stopping me from shutting my eyes and resting. No, the internal warfare that is tivo-ed to play on the back of my eye lids immediately upon their closing is what prevents adequate sleep. There are literally scenes of my life and past actions that continuously torment me at this time at night (morning- for you technical fools).
I prayed today. I pray every day; I mean I read the Bible today. Psalm 142 I think… not sure and too lazy to check. I turned to it randomly as I ALWAYS do with the book of Psalms, and it was about restoration; about protection. It was a plea to God asking for guidance and shelter, for forgiveness, etc. I thought I could relate, but this guy was in danger and in need of all that stuff because he was like super religious. He had haters because he was SUCH a good Christian. Kinda not the same with me, so I nodded my head and changed a few words up and returned to my insomniac ways… Bible-downstairs, Me-upstairs. I mean there are PLENTY of stories in the Bible that can relate to mine, but I chose my own path-randomly, yes, but still it was my choice-and reached my own end. I gave up.
I found my old book of poems, and thought about how I haven’t written anything in years. How I just gave up on that. Without using this word document to enumerate all my recent and not-so-recent pitfalls, I can just conclude by saying I miss the old me. Or my current vision of the old me.
I’ve taken so many shortcuts in life and here I am now, exactly where I want to be, but not without the casualty of eight amazing lives, eight amazing limbs. I sit here crippled, presently incapable of displaying the optimism that once seeped out of my very being, presently incapable of discussing anything without coming to tears- full, unstoppable tears. Complete with heavy breathing and misplaced contacts. Presently incapable of sleep. I JUST WANT TO GO TO SLEEP.
And so the crowd wonders: what caused all this? What single event (or series of events for those crowd members that are a tad bit more rational) brought on this revolution of what was Alexis.
And I laugh, (not really... I’m depressed remember but it just sounded right) thinking – “they’ll never know.” Cause you won’t.
I won’t tell. There’s no need. I don’t need advice. I know my decisions were wrong. And I KNOW they were my decisions. I was coerced to do nothing. No guns were held to my head, no ransom needed, just me doing the usual. Just trying to get to some end. Evade the misery that life had become. Escape the problems I had created and perpetuated over the years, dismiss the ordinary and create some idealized “extraordinary” setting. Just trying to create my own destiny in the quickest way possible so I could get what I truly wanted. Not self fulfillment or pride in my life and actions, not lasting relationships, money or achievement. Nope… I wasn’t thinking that hard. I was only listening to my stomach. My greedy, selfish, little stomach. Truth is, I just wanted my own, fresh-out-the-oven, personal pan pizza.
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