Staring is caring

I used to stare at people constantly and zone out a couple years ago. Judging from what I’ve read I feel it is justified to call it Ptsd symptoms. Things got real bad, I was freaking out everyone and pissing people off. After all, we are tigers and eye contact is an act of aggression. But I felt almost nothing in those days and even now. I would look at people and just emptiness would rear its head and smile a little smile at me. Phantom Cheshire just aching for play.

I kept traveling and walking everywhere to get away from myself, lose myself in perambulating limbo. But those evil little thoughts kept humming and jutting out at every insignificant moment. Like a schizophrenic drowning in voices, I was moving around with troubling, tainted memories floating in my mind. All too real sensations would collapse and plague me just for the hell of it. I’d try and get coffee and I had the deer-in-headlights look on my face, shocked by time and past reflections, inching closer to another mental breakdown. Another flying trapeze minstrel show priming itself in the mental realm. I kept thinking I just wanted it to happen, I was pushing myself onward and forever to crack myself up. I wanted pain and suffering, the kind that was easy to get, not that refugee, wartorn country shit. I had to make myself crazy, had to chauffeur my demons to the precipice of sanity and dive full on into the crazy hutch.

I was pushing people away and instigating for some pleasure/pain game of chance. Performing some Socratic Andy Kaufman schtick for the audience trying to glean something fromitall. Like I would discover more of myself and people by doing this tiny tot native dance for the lackluster crowd. I was developing social theories that would illuminate the sphere. What a strong ego I had at that time (yeah cause you’re so much better now Rob, you’re only two thirds full of yourself now), what human hubris was awakened in me. I have become the thing I hate.

Quite right.


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