Outside, my head pulsed and trembled. Thoughts and feelings banged at the door begging to be answered. Confused, why didn’t they just force the door open and have their way with me if they were so powerful? Were they just playing games or waiting for me to open it? Like that was going to happen! Buzzing on the inside, outside, all around me forced me to resist assimilation into the Borg hive mind. I wasn’t about to give up my identity, individuality and everything I’d worked for without a fight, especially when I knew it could be done. Having heard about the bug crawling experience before, I prayed to God it wasn’t happening to me, not now; not on top of everything else.
Around me everyone appeared oblivious, even indifferent, to my turmoil. It felt good to be unnoticed, yet terribly lonely at the same time. I wanted to scream and let people know what was happening to me, but feared being laughed at and called a loser for not doing what they did – like I used to. But it went deeper than that. Although I felt rejected by them, they too felt rejected, for me revealing what they’d allowed to happen, for the lie they too were living.
“Mike, what makes you think they know? They’re just faking it like everyone else.” I felt comforted by the words of a good friend. Yet what did it mean to not know why we were alive? The comfort of belonging to a club of fakers and liars, only worked when the lie was unknown or kept hidden because others couldn’t handle the truth of their own feelings? Yet good and bad were subjective. Mistakes were only mistakes when not learned from. Learning what not to do was equally as important as learning what to do. Surely a loving God helped humanity, His children, evolve through love and compassion and not entrapment. Nowhere was that more evident than the repression of sexual orientation, which we did with or without a God. If self-realization was the product of when lessons were learned, then doubts, fears and lack of conviction only hindered the process. What would it mean to have no doubt and fear at all? Or would that be revealed after learning each lesson?
Tremors … internal … vibration … momentum … resonance. The beehive came alive. Too tired to put up a defense, I surrendered to its ravages. ‘See, see what happens when you let your guard down; see!’ I knew scolding myself would get me nowhere, but it was all I knew how to do. Unable to tell if something was trying to get in or out, I freaked and ran desperately hoping to outrun it, but ‘resistance was futile.’ In an adrenaline rush, lungs gasped and skin trembled. The futility of constantly running piped a demonic hymn up my spine. I screamed as the sleeping giant awoke. Shaking my head in bewildering defeat, I cursed and stabbed the guard that had fallen asleep at the wheel and failed me. “Sure kick me while I’m down, you fucking cowards!” unable to believe the paranoia had returned at the most inconvenient time. Shaking my fist at the Universe and God, sorrow breezed through the echoes of my remains. Voices tried telling me it was for my own good, but I couldn’t listen through the pain.
Once again, perception folded and unfolded revealing hidden dimensions of string theory. Invigorated, I looked outwards to see how they applied to the real world like science was supposed to. Unbelievably, I was able to see around things in a truly three-dimensional way. In the quietest of sensory moments I became aware that I was not only observer, but participant in a widening sensory process. Through a gentle hum a faint glow arose and I sensed the presence of God, the Creator, the Divine. I was being observed! Why was He/She/It sensing me now or was feeling worthless a prerequisite for Its attention? Across the timeless dimensions we waited for the other to make the first move. He/She/It had all the time in the world; I was afraid to move period.
With silence loud and demanding, I attacked it for always poking, prodding, watching and loving me. I couldn’t believe I’d thought that. Who or what was loving me? Was it me? “Stop it! It’s my life, mine. All my misery, all my everything. It’s mine, no one else’s. I created it. It’s my responsibility. Mine … right?” Was that what it was all about – responsibility? Were they waiting for me to clean up my mess, my room and get on with it and stop hindering the process of evolution? It made sense that as a part of God I needed to evolve in order to further His/Her/Its process. So why did we pray to dead stagnant statues when surrounded by a living world?
Everything brightened; I felt and thought lighter. Everyone, everything, every particle in God’s Universe seemed to be watching me, listening to me, honing in on my frequency, forcing me to listen to, but to what, myself? It’d taken me years to feel good enough in my own skin, be seen in the world and to others, but now I felt totally unpresentable before the likes of Him/Her/It. The voices erupted, but I didn’t want to hear them now. I pleaded for more time, but knew deep down that wasn’t going to happen.
A primal nauseating scream from lifetimes of repressed cumulative hurts, pains, sorrows and losses erupted. I wrapped my hands around myself desperately trying to stop myself from falling apart. Feeling successful, my external world suddenly closed in as hundreds of inner beings and entities writhed and moaned for expression. Any feeling for them only added to their torment and made them more real. They latched on, growing and taking form, using me in a catalytic biochemical/metaphysical process. I’d been lucky to have not gone mad and made it out alive before, but now in my current state anything could happen. ‘No, don’t go there Mike, don’t you go there! Don’t listen to them. Never, never! You’ll never get me. I won’t allow it. I’ll kill myself first. I’ll stay on guard, no matter what. I won’t give in – ever. I can do it. I just have to stay alert and keep my energy up. Yes, that’s it, I just have to keep my energy up and stay on guard’. Yet some unknown force was still holding me back. I looked and looked and looked until it all became crystal clear. The only constant in my life had been the madness; time the variable.
My head began to throb. I was thinking too much; thinking about thinking; thinking about not thinking; thinking my way to madness. I knew that game all too well: keep the troops occupied in a state of constant agitation until they were worn down and the madness could simply walk in, set up camp and fly its tattered flag. But I still had a chance, I…. My mouth closed as a metal door slammed shut in the higher recesses of my mind. Metallica’s Fade to Black played its haunting tune at my funeral procession of self-sabotage.
© Michael J. Varma, The Gong Show, 2011 –
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