I had a bout with psychoses the other night, the kind I used to be haunted by about five or six years ago.
I think alot of factors brought it on. It snowed Wednesday, all day, for the first time this year. I had been drinking whiskey every single day for a couple weeks and had chosen Wednesday to "dry out" some what, not drink. I was at work at the PornStore, looking at it snow all day, dreading the long walk home on the ice. I have to actually walk down a stretch of highway to my apartment. It can be extrememly precarious when the weather is bad as there is absolutely NOWHERE to walk aside from atop the heaping piles of snow that have been plowed from the road. So I was being put into melancholy because of the snow; the snow is so romantic!- especially when it first comes down so pure and white and with just a tender chill, a kiss of wind in the air. But I was depressed, horridly depressed, wearing my black knit cap. My beard has grown to looking like a mangled, dead cat carcass which hangs from my cheeks and chin. My glasses are crooked. My eyes are always glazed, blood-shot, feeling like crap and wanting to fucking kill someone, bash their brains in with a broom handle, or whatever.
I'm pricing porno mags, putting them out on the shelves; the snow is coming down. I'm craving a drink of my whiskey; a battle of the will ensues- I'd told myself I would NOT drink on Wednesday! I needed a day off drinking to just think, send some bills out, whatever; "regroup" somewhat. My boss stands behind the counter telling me bad jokes; telling me about his 15-year old son's wresting match which I care absolutely NOTHING about and I just want to bash his son's brains in with a broom handle, or whatever, grab him by the throat and scream "Le SIGH!" in his face, or whatever; my boss is cool but he talks way too much about the kind of stuff alot of people put in their on-line journals.
So I trampled home in the snow, about a mile walk, carrying my groceries, stopping by the liquor store. I get a fifth of Wild Turkey and the smarty pants clerk says, "Yeah, we're all out of the TAME turkey," trying to be all funny and stuff. HehHeh. He is a whacked out grad student, never combs his hair and starts talking about how my Wild Turkey somehow related to my having Thanksgiving leftovers. This then somehow leads us to talking about Christmas. The guy says that in Norse mythology, Satan lives in LapLand, and this is supposedly the same place Santa Claus comes from. And if you anagram, mix up, the letters in "Santa" and "Satan" you get the same thing, blah, blah, blah, but I thought it was sort of amusing. I like dumb little quirky things like that. Useless, pointless encounters with strangers which, on snowy, melancholy days, if you are thoughtful enough; if you are idealistic enough; romantic enough and morbid enough . . . they actually can put a smile on your face.
So I get home, cursing myself because I'd purchased the whiskey. Telling myself I will NOT drink it, I decide to just pass out, call it quits at 6 in the evening. Just fucking go to bed. I'm lying there in the dark, on my bed and I can't sleep. My mind becomes imbued with all these excessively creepy thoughts, horrible images, as I start to think of Christ and my mother who I sorely miss. I start seeing my family at home, worrying about me, wondering about me, not knowing if I am even alive. Then I start to see them as animals in a cave. They are all naked, like hippies, living in a COMMUNE which relates to Christian COMMUNION, of course, and I see them all sitting around the cave defecating in front of one another, like animals. Mom's sagging tits and my hot, sexy sister sitting in the corner, waiting for me to come home from my whale hunt; my polar bear hunt; my frog-jumping contest.
A subtle mental nuance, an idea flutters throughout my wrinkled, raisin mind- it says I do not really believe in death, nor fear it. Death does not exist, it is only the loss of my IDENTITY that I fear, that terrifies me; my individuality. It is this sense of self, this satanic sense of ego that keeps me out of the cave, from my family, away from the hippies; naked hippies shitting, grunting, looking at one another's thick patches of pubis as the long lost son is out hunting for treasure! For immortailty! Satan keeps me away from the COMMUNE but the whiskey seduces me back, beseeching me to jump into their river of blood, stick my hard engorged cock into the nail wounds of Christ and fuck his hands. Fuck his feet while the naked hippies watch me and shit in front of one another. Join the commune, partake in this sinister, horrible reddish purple COMMUNION, colors like the tip of my dick and I want to fucking CUM on my hot, sexy sister's face!
I want to fuck my sister, go into the cave, but I'm trompling through the snow. I'm trying to go to sleep; just shut it off; turn it all down; stay away from the blood-stained hippy murdereres of my individuality, my ego, for just one stinking fuckling of a night. I can't sleep. I get up and sit at the computer, see the snow fall outside and miss my family so much. I have nieces and nephews I have never seen. My heart bleeds. My dick is shriveled. I want to morbidly masturbate but the snow flakes do not have titties or asses or cocks and I am not aroused. I feel lonely, so lonely, having nothing in common with my boss. A friend let me borrow some CDs. I don't like any of them. It is at this strange point where my quirky individuality begins to mesh with the tribalism of the commune. I feel myself contracting within myself. Psychoses brought on by alcohol withdrawals and everything else in my life right now. I become terrified! It is a feeling which really cannot be described. It is so awful. My heart starts beating a mile a minute and I hear the crying of the bloody snow-stained angels outside, smearing their cheeks against the glass of my window, making goofy faces, showing me they have no genitals and that I should cut off my own. I want to turn on the television, just to have some company. I want to turn on the computer just to see that someone else is out there in the snow. I want to go outside and scream "Somebody please help me!" but there is nothing they can do. As soon as someone approached me, I'd want them to go away. I am fucked. So FUCKED. I suddenly feel in total control of my mind, my sense of reality, my understanding of how the mind works, and it is this responsibility, that I alone am responsible for my SANITY, which both terrifies me and gives me the strength to just sit there, sit there on the floor, on my knees, and say to myself, "Quit being a woosy. Just stop it! You will NOT go crazy; not like this, little buddy; we've already been through this." I want to feel my sister's tight, wet vagina wrap around my cock in that cave when I finally come home. Dad can watch. I will bash my father's brains in if he has something to say about it. Fucker.
