The setting is a radio talk show at around 1 AM. It is one of many shows that are recorded in a series of inside thoughts by Marcus. The streets of New York City are chilled as the fall weather begins to set in. An eerie fog is rolling on the empty streets as listeners scan for entertainment away from the blandness of the usual mind-numbing of TV.
It gets hard to talk about how I dream and how in dreams, I can't see things but I have rather, very lucid thoughts and seem to concept what it is that I dream about. From about the time I was 11, I would begin to fall into sleep and just think out loud but within my mind. I would imagine or create entities or bodies based off of an infinite number of possible things that I encountered in my life.
You would argue "Well, yeah, that's the concept of a dream." No. I mean to the blind, a dream is something that doesn't happen. I don't dream. My sleeping "dreams" are just a continuity point for what I think about when I am awake. Now instead of having boundaries, I have a playground that exists in my head with things that I know and no room for me to stop at what is possible and not. That's why at 12, I thought I was bugshit insane.
To get an idea of what was going on at the time, I was in school for 3 years now and I was daily just hoping to get to the bus at the end of the day unscathed. It was a mentality about the youth in town. They were buttered up at home but frozen and caked in the dust on the wind when they left home. I to this day can't understand why on Earth they could be so mean to anybody; mean to me. I know that my family wasn't the richest or the best in popular standing and I was no elite, star studded super kid. I was everything this town hated in a kid.
My dad was a supervisor in the mines which at first seems rather insignificant. However in this town, if your dad was a miner, your dad was contributing to the heart and soul of this town. Your dad was a hero. We held the miners up high in our eyes and if your dad was like my dad, that was seen as a badge of honor. That was also seen as a target of the jealous. The problem was, my mother kind of put a fork in the family too. The miners were excellent at making our town who we were, but the modernizing city wanted to downsize the mine, outsource the mining to a dedicated professional corporation, abolish the union and take a yield of the profit to sustain the town. My mother was the Mayor's exclusive office secretary.
Add in a few other factors to my demise such as the fact that I was rather thin, I wasn't always the best groomed, we were in a ghetto and I was as exposed as a fur-less kitten in a rainstorm because I couldn't see anything to learn what I needed to early on and you might see why my childhood was a train wreck. I was a target by everybody and that only made my mind crawl worse.
I found myself night after night trying to cope with having issues at school just for them to spill over into my unconscious world and plague me at night. I have imagined myself thinking about all that makes me a target and all that makes me unfit or unworthy to be around the kids I have to deal with. I took the traits that I came up with and created a person that I can speak to. He was violent and unruly. He told me all kinds of wicked lies and rumors that made me doubt myself further. He tried to convince me that I should snap and just go postal, to which all I could do is kindly reply "no" and walk away.
I took all of my insecurity and made it into another guy and he tells me that I am failing and that no matter how hard I try that I will fail. Personified anxiety. Into my adulthood, I struggled to cope with what I found myself being able to do or not do. I'd found myself personifying regret and loss. I even fought with greed once too. I think I really find it hard to reason with an entity that says to you that you have a credit card and cash in hand and to go treat yourself. Who would argue with that? I would, and that's why I still think I'm fucking nuts. It's also why I'm not broke too.
Greed, hate, violence, addiction, frivolity and gluttony. I fought with all of them and more to a point where they eventually became nightly pillars of my over-imaginative, self-destructing mind. I was inviting myself to parties where I was the only guest and every other me knew what was wrong with me. It was torture. I had breakdowns. During my travels, I was totally distracted. I would be so scared to sleep that I would lose it one day and eventually decide to give up sleeping altogether. That did not do anything but bad things and when I would pass out, guess who would be there? A 400 pound me sitting in as gluttony offering for me to eat my damn ego over whatever it was i felt that I had too much of.
It's because of a lot of these weird, self-created images that I changed myself a lot. I was already pretty thin, but I felt like I was eating too often or too much. I felt like I was incapable due to my vision and never tried. I felt like I was always being watched; being followed or mocked. I was so out of the loop that i would have episodes. I would make an ass of myself and bring on more bullying. When a kid would take a jab at me, I would jab back. I was constantly fighting to keep on moving forward but I always felt like I was in reverse. I felt like i was stuck.
I remember writing about all of it in a braille punch-in book that I kept bedside. Not to throw the subject off, but these dreams were not every night, so those that I were concerned about, I wrote in my dream journal. Honest at word, it is probably the scariest goddamn dream journal you will EVER read. I was often crying while I was writing or I had to make confessions to myself. I broke down and thought I was insane for years. Maybe I am, who knows?
The last entry that I wrote in was in March of 2013. I still tear up when I read it and it is dark. It reads "Tonight, I will be going to sleep. I will be going to sleep for good." I planned to walk to the edge of Yakely, out past Wellwyn about 5 minutes to climb a hill that oversaw Conneaut. I would jump over the fence there and fall the 600 feet into the pond at the bottom of the cliff. I had planned my suicide; never returning home from school that night. I brought a thermos with me, filled it with coffee and planned to use the coffee to stay up all night to launch off in the morning.
Whoever you believe in; substitute, but for me it is God. God works in some crazy ways. He will turn your low points into high points and sometimes, he will just let you reek in the stench of messes that you create for yourself. Suicide was the plan, but what followed was the most disorganized, downhill, unexpected turn of events that I have ever heard about. That is saying something, because my life is based on reading and writing. I read some dark novels too, and even they are more controlled than my mess. I went from having a suicide plan to being chased into town, hit by a car, injured morbidly and drugged by a kidnapper.
Oh Lord, could you have PLEASE let me kill myself!? Even in it, you had to mock me by nearly killing me twice anyways? Oh no, God had a plan for me, but I decided to make it difficult. At that moment, I felt like I was dead. I felt like I was dead to everyone, and now I was going to be dead at somebody else's hand. What followed in the next year was just as brutal as death, but at least I have come through better than where I was. I came through to something brighter, even if I couldn't see it.