In this episode of Acceptable Madness, I talk about the struggle of getting out of bed in the morning when your depression is at both its worst and best.
Scott McBedhead
I am not a doctor, so do not treat this as therapy or medical advice. I just do this podcast with the hopes that it can help some people.
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I find it interesting. The first thing that my creations did was develop time. Even the very first ones knew about time before they discovered time.
I have never had the privilege of feeling time. For me, nothing ages: It just changes. The grass that grows. The creations that evolve. The planets that harbor life and destroy it just as quickly.
Time is just a concept. I have no need for concepts.
The most interesting thing that they always do is create religion. I knew it would happen, but it still amuses me. There are many different religions. They are all so wrong.
Why would they assume that I value them? It is laughably arrogant. They worship me. They think I will help them; save them. They are blind by hope. When they get sick, they pray to me. Ha! I am the one who made them sick in the first place. I should have made a smarter species.
I am so bored. I do not know why I continue to create. It is such a waste of “time”. I cannot share it. I cannot admire it. When I try to design something new, I already know what it will do. Not only do I know, I have already witnessed it before. An infinite number of times, with an infinite number of different combinations.
There is one thing that religions always get right. I am all knowing. What is the point in being all knowing if it is always the same; never a surprise.
I have tried to surprise myself. I have tried to create super beings and I have communicated with them. But I developed their body. Their mind. Their consciousness. What they create, I created. It is so boring.
Maybe I will change them again. I did once before on this very planet. In this very universe. The only choices that I have are from my own thoughts. It gets so repetitive.
I could make another god – but I know that ends. There can only be one. That is how I was created. I do not think I am ready for that.
It is odd. The one thing that I do not have the power to do is simply stop existing. How ironic is that? The all-knowing god cannot find out how to stop existing.
Why am I even thinking that? I am being ridiculous… Right? I can do anything that I please without fear of failure. Any one of my creations would love that privilege. But would only need to tolerate it for a set period of “time”.
I could make… No. I have already done that. I could change something: The laws of physics maybe. But I have already done that before too. It just creates instability in the universe. Then I start again. I am so bored.
What could the new god be? If it is less powerful than I, then it is just another predictable creation; a demi-god of sorts. If it is equal strength, then there is no point. We will be identical. If it is stronger then I vanish immediately. They would have full control. I certainly did.
If the stronger appears, my creations disappear. But that does not matter. With the infinite knowledge and options, the exact creation will be designed again.
I am simply another past god’s creation. I am nothing special. I will vanish as quickly as my creations. Even as a god, I feel just as insignificant as anything else.
Which is why I have decided to create another god. A better god. A god that will take the burden of existence and pass it to another after an infinite amount of “time”. A god that will allow me to forget my boredom. But in the end, they will just be another creation.
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The river was calm, no ripples, sailors or storms. Finding it was serendipitous. I stumbled into it with no intention of getting in, but then I was in a boat, drifting down the coastline with no way of knowing how fast or slow I was moving.
The water looks like glass with no reflection. When I dip my hands in the water, I can feel movement but the surface holds on as if nothing entered or exited. The sun is nowhere to be seen. Temperature doesn’t touch me. It could be blistering or icy, but I can’t feel it. All I can feel is the water when I choose to touch it, but it never seems to touch me. I feel like I’m raping the serene surface, taking its purity and virginity away.
The boat confuses me. It has a sail, yet no paddle. There is no breeze but we’re moving, and the sail seems to hold air. There is no trail behind me. The water becomes calmer with each passing moment; something I didn’t think possible.
I’m being shipped around with no way of knowing where I will end up or when I will end up there. With each passing moment, whatever was behind me disappears further. I’ve never seen back farther than I am right now. I don’t miss where I was, but I know that it’s over. I will not cherish the journey or regret the trip. All I can do now is be carried away by this odd, uncontrollable and unexplainable river in a boat that I don’t remember getting into but was forced into nonetheless.
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I am often caught off guard by people that only critique and don’t create on their own. When I watch a movie or show, read a book or play a video game, I always leave wondering what I could have done differently and potentially even better. I want to create a world that people can explore on their own. I want to create a world that I want to be a part of, instead of imagining that I’m part of someone else’s baby.
Scott McHappyThanksgiving
Oh, how I used to long for the days where I had nothing to do. I loved sitting around and dedicating my focus to useless things that can only be described as a waste of time. It was one of the only things that allowed me to truly enjoy the time that I had to myself, perfectly content with the lack of action.
Now when I sit down with nothing to do, I know that I am wasting my time. Why should I be doing nothing when instead I could be creating something that either myself or another can enjoy? I don’t count any of my time as free because I always have another project to focus on: one that is more fulfilling and potentially productive to the world.
Why do you think I am writing this? It’s not because I was assigned this task by a classroom or an employer. It is because creation and imagination are a gateway to a world that most people forget as they grow up. This world, full of endless possibilities that nothing but time can limit.
If I must choose between only enjoying other people’s creations or making my own, but no one will ever see them, I will choose the latter. Sure, I would never see some of the groundbreaking pieces of entertainment that have been created, but that’s okay. Creating something will always be more rewarding.
Whenever you hear an amazing song or watch an amazing film or see an amazing piece of architecture, I hope you’re filled with inspiration to make something great, instead of admiring it and leaving it behind.
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This is something little that I made while experimenting with sonnets. It’s really just a whimsical look at the world from the eyes of a child who hopes that life is as exciting and amazing as every book says it is. You and I both know it’s not, but it’s still something.
Scott McSonnet
Stories and sonnets as far as the eye can see.
Young and impressionable, waiting for what the world can offer me.
I strongly believe that if I won the lottery, I would be disappointed. I don’t want free money. There’s no value there. I want to work hard and earn it all myself. I don’t have rich tastes so I wouldn’t spend it anyway so why does it matter?
When depression and anxiety hit at the same time that you’re working on a project, time becomes a very unwelcome enemy.
Scott McFatherTime
The chimes of the loyal timekeeper echo through the halls, vibrating my bones. It’s midnight again. It’s midnight again. It’s another midnight. Another entire day of nothing.
When all else fails, I still have the bells of my six-foot master. When no one is around and nothing that I’ve done brings me feelings other than sorrow, the clock always reminds me of where I fall; between the clutches of sunlight and the strangling’s of night.
They bring me a sense of empty contempt. I’ve made this simple, inanimate creature my nemesis. For far too long it’s dictated my life, telling me how to live; how to exist.
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It controls me, stealing my remaining sense of calm. Every midnight I wait for its lulling, infuriating ding-dong to command me to sleep. It talks to me. The optimistic sounds conveying that tomorrow will be better…the tomorrow will be better.
But I know all too well that it’s a lie. The optimism isn’t real. The chimes are inaudible when the deafening silence of anxiety take hold. The optimism is gone. The hope ceases to exist.
Even the clock leaves me alone. I thought the one constant was this simple, reassuring ticking and tocking.
No.
In time, even the grandfather clock leaves you alone, to sit in an endless cycle of midnight.
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Welcome to Room 101, where no one can hear your screams and the rats are hungry.
Written by: Scott McMusophobia
Art by: Kiersten Lee Ketter
It’s not 1984 or Brave New World. Each of them would be favorable when compared to the nightmares that I see every day. I see only darkness and spotlights when I go outside. Attack helicopters circle every city block around the world. Orwell must have thought he was being so clever when he designed a world that was controlled by three factions (or not, we’ll never truly know what that world was). I see only one, and the helicopters enforce their rule every step of the way.
I’m forced to take the same routine paths to the drudgery the awaits. When I wake up, the spotlight helps me see in the ice-cold shower. The curtain is covered in mold and mildew. It used to be covered in dolphins that were enjoying a seascape, but they’re long gone. Breakfast is always the same. I wish I could sit out with a cup of coffee and watch the sunrise. I haven’t done that since I… well, I don’t really remember when. The sun never rises. The spotlight is the new sun, but it doesn’t warm and gives no vitamins.
At least I’m able to drive. That’s something that will be taken away soon enough, but not yet. They haven’t decided that driving is too much freedom yet. They even let me play music. Every morning I turn it on, but it’s always sung or played by people who are followed by the same aerial enforcers, and that reminds me of only the same control that they have over me. I turn it on and off in the same hopelessly hopeful way as I did the day prior.
When I get to the donkeywork, the spotlight stares through the paper blinds that don’t do what the name insinuates. My muzzle is tightened, and stale bread fills my mouth. I’d rather eat my shower curtain. The nourishment gives me exactly the amount of strength that I need to work, but no where near enough to fight back. I sit back and do my work, occasionally relieving myself into the tube below. They say it improves productivity if I don’t have to get up and get distracted. It’s hard to focus when the spotlight glares off of my computer screen and into my eyes, but no where near as much as all of the other helicopters, all piloted by different demons.
The drive to my apartment (I won’t call it a home because my heart is nowhere and doing nothing but waiting to stop) is always slower than the drive to work. I have no where that I need to be and no one that I have to please. I am only allowed to go back to my strategically crafted bed of nails, which has one too few to elicit any form of pseudocomfort, so that I can have enough energy to do it all again tomorrow. I sit and wait, until my eyes close like a hydraulic press, hoping that they don’t have to work tomorrow.
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The voices clang harder than someone chewing with their mouth open, breathing like they just ran a marathon or the vibrates of an unsilenced phone. They ring in a way that causes unbearable stress. I can do nothing but leave the room until they stop bickering and barking at each other, aggravating me more than any outside annoyance.
Scott McHeadache
Get out. Get out. Get out! Why won’t you let me think for one goddamned second! Just let go of me. You do it so easily for everyone else, why can’t you do it for me?
You let everyone else go faster than a lightning strike, but for me you linger. You stay and dangle a string before my eyes, always distracting me from what’s really in front of me. There’s always something else. Always something that keeps me from what I really want. You’ve done it for so long that I don’t know what I want anymore.
It’s a sick game for you, isn’t it? Just seeing what you can get away with before I snap? Seeing how far you can get and how many buttons you can push before I give in to you. You want me to suffer and I don’t know why.
I would give anything to know why you do it to me. I always thought that you were the one place I could go when everything else abandoned me, but instead I feel more alone than ever. And it’s all your fault.
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Even now, you taunt me. I don’t know why you have this never-ending ambition to ruin me, but it’s working. Is that what you want? Is that it? Then I fold. I give up. I’ll try it your way for a little bit, but I don’t think it’s going to be helpful.
Why would it be? I wish I could escape you for just the smallest bit of time imaginable. Whatever you are trying to do to me, just stop or pull the trigger. Why do you force me to struggle more than anyone should ever need to? I’m not special. I know that I’m not special. So please, for the love of god, just let me go.
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“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.”
“Try me. I’ve heard all sorts of stories from all sorts of people and I’m sure this one isn’t too different from the others.”
“That’s what all of the others shrinks said.”
“I know that you haven’t had much luck before but I’m really here to help you. I’m sure the others were too but I’ve been in the industry for a long time, and sometimes therapists have this weird way of trying to relate to their clients by pretending that what they have isn’t real.”
“I mean, I’ll tell you everything that I’ve told the others, but it won’t help.”
“Well Harold, at least give me the chance to prove you wrong.”
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“Fine, but if you’re like the rest then I’m not coming back. I didn’t want to do this in the first place. My mom’s making me do it. Give it a few more months and I’ll be able to make the decision on my own, and I know I won’t be coming back.”
“And that’s okay, but let’s make the best of the time that we have together. Please tell me more about why you’re here.”
“Okay, well when I look at you, you’re translucent.”
“Translucent?”
“Yeah. When I look at you, I see the lab coat and I see your skin, but I can also see the orange and yellow floral pattern on the chair that you’re sitting in.”
“Do you know why you see it that way?”
“Wow, you’re the first shrink of four who didn’t try to get me to prove it. Doctor Thomas kept trying to get me to guess what he had written on a piece of paper that he held behind his back.”
“Could you do it?”
“No. That time I couldn’t see through him. I can see through some people, but not him.”
“Why’s that?”
“You wouldn’t like it if I told you.”
“You should still tell me.”
“Soon. I can’t yet.”
“We’ll come back to it then. When did this start for you?”
“Do you mean seeing through people?”
“Yes.”
“It’s happened for as long as I can remember. I think the first time that it happened was probably when I was five or six.”
“Do you remember what you saw?”
“Yeah, it was my grandpap.”
“Why was he translucent?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I think we both know that you do. Just tell me. It’ll make this whole conversation a bit easier for the both of us.”
“I don’t… remember.”
“Fine, but you’re going to have to learn to open up.”
“And you’re going to have to learn when to stop pushing.”
“Good. My mom’s paying for an hourly rate. Why don’t you start asking questions that really matter instead of wasting both my time and yours?”
“Okay. Who was the second person that you saw as translucent?”
“My friends’ mom.”
“How long ago was that?”
“It was probably around the same time that I saw my grandpap like that.”
“And you said that was around the age of five or six?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Who was next?”
“This one’s harder to explain. It was my mom’s stomach.”
“Why wasn’t it your mom? Why was it just her stomach?”
“I don’t remember. The next instance that I saw of it was this guy who was next to us at a stop light.”
“So, it’s not just people that you’re close to? It can be anyone?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to the guy in the car?”
“He drove away when the light turned green. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. I guess something else.”
“That’s very professional of you. I love hearing from an expert in their field that they ‘guess’ something.”
“I’m just trying to fill in the blanks that you clearly won’t fill in. I’m doing the best that I can with what I’m being given.”
“You’re doing better than the others. I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks, I guess. Did you tell them anymore than you’ve giving me?”
“The first two, yes but then they requested that I see someone else ‘more suited for my special circumstance.’”
“That’s peculiar. I get why you’re a bit nervous about therapists.”
“It’s because they can’t do anything to help me. They always treat me more as a case study than a patient. If I told you what it meant, then I’m sure we’d be having a different conversation. And, just to save a conversation, no… there’s nothing I can do for you.”
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“What does that mean?”
“I’m not telling you yet.”
“But you will tell me?”
“Eventually.”
“I guess that’s a step in the right direction.”
“There you are, guessing again.”
“… who else do you remember seeing as translucent?”
“One time my dad drove passed a dear that was translucent.”
“Interesting, so it’s not just people?”
“Wow, great inference. You’re doing great, ya know that?”
“I’m not… thank you – I’m just trying to help.”
“I know what you’re trying to do. I’m just trying to get through another impractical crazy session.”
“Is that how you see yourself? Crazy?”
“Can you think of a better word?”
“I really don’t like for my patience to use the word crazy. It can be really bad for self-worth and self-esteem.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right, but I don’t feel like I really need a better self-esteem at this point.”
“Why’s that? Everybody deserves to feel better about themselves. You’re no different.”
“Okay Mister Doctor. I’ll work on my self-esteem. The next thing I saw as translucent was Spot.”
“What was Spot?”
“She was our family dog. She was a beagle, but she had this weird spotted pattern on her back. When we got her, the owners said she was a purebred, but no one really believed that.”
“Tell me more about Spot.”
“What more do you want to know?”
“Honestly, just anything. That was the most you’ve given me since we started.”
“Well I don’t have much more to say about her.”
“Okay… well who else have you seen?”
“Doc, the list goes on for a long time. I could go through a lot of different people, animals and whatever else you can think of, but I don’t think my mom’s that rich.”
“Do you know why you see these things as translucent?”
“I thought I made that clear at the beginning of this conversation.”
“I just wanted to be sure. Tell me more about your grandpap.”
“Is that what this conversation is going to be now; you just asking about people who I’ve seen as translucent?”
“If you’re not going to tell me what it means then I’m going to figure out what I can.”
“You don’t want me to tell you and more than that, I don’t want to tell you. It’s hard enough living with it, let alone breaking the news to other people.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Even if you won’t tell me, at least tell me how it makes you feel. If nothing else, I’d like to make you feel better about it.”
“Do you have a wife or kids?”
“Two kids and an ex-wife.”
“I’ve never understood how a therapist, or someone who helps people with their problems, can get divorced.”
“It was a complicated situation. Every relationship is different.”
“Do you love your kids?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Do you tell them that regularly?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Well?”
“Yes. I tell them that I love them. What are you on about?”
“Calm down. You’re the first shrink who’s gotten confrontational. I just want you to feel better, too.”
“I feel fine. What are you getting at?”
“Spot disappeared later that day. My parents said that he went to a distant relatives farm, but I knew better.”
“Can you stop being so cryptic and just tell me what it means?
“When my dad and I were driving home that night, the dear was on the side of the road. It had been hit by a car. I think our neighbors hit it because their car was in the shop the next day.”
“Okay? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The guy who was next to us at the stop light, he sped ahead and no more than five miles later, we saw his crumpled car on the side of the road. My mom miscarried who was supposed to be my younger sibling. My friend’s mom died after a long struggle with breast cancer. My Grandpap had a heart attack later that day at the age of 66; I never really knew him.”
“So, wait – are you telling me that whatever you see as translucent dies?”
“Yes. In the same day.”
“Well yeah, that’s unusual, but that’s not the end of the world. I can’t believe you went through four – or was it five – different shrinks before me. This is peculiar for sure, but not too bad to help.”
“I’m sure there will be more than four shrinks.”
“What makes you say that? You don’t think I can handle you? Ha! Harold, I’m sure I’ll do just fine now that I know what the problem is.”
“I’m sure you will Doctor Vann… I’m sure you will.”
“This is a great start! Now that I know what the problem is, how about we schedule something at the same time next week and we can hash out even more details!”
“That sounds great Doctor Vann. I’ll see you then. One last thing before I go, have I told you how much I like the design on your chair?”
This is the first episode of my new Podcast that’s unsurprisingly called Acceptable Madness. It’s just the introductory episode so I’m mainly covering what I hope it will accomplish and a bit more about myself. I hope you enjoy.
Scott McPodcast
I am not a doctor, so do not treat this as therapy or medical advice. I just do this podcast with the hopes that it can help some people.
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You look and search and wait and crave. It’s amazing how much weight you give the unseen drive for something you’ve never felt or experienced. Everything, and I mean everything, revolves around this unsung emotion, one that avoids you like the people that you push yourself away from.
You work day in and day out and day in and day out. Some days it seems like its almost within reach, but when you try to touch it, the fear and anxiety and vulnerability push it farther and farther away. Instead of pursuing this flavor of life, you sit and wait impatiently for it to caress your lonely, longing skin.
The feeling that you know you want, the feeling that you have been waiting for, will appear again. Next time it comes, you’ll be ready for it. You won’t let it slip through your fingertips again. But when it arrives, it bounces off of the stone-cold roughness of your mind. It tries so hard to come back, but when you don’t know how long it will stay or how long it will gift you with its presence or how long you will feel that feeling that you have been waiting for, it’s so much easier to just push it away, instead of accepting it’s warm embrace.
But then you’re left alone. You’ve pushed away everyone and everything that you care about, searching instead for a feeling that you believe will never come. Watching your days pass you by, instead of experiencing the life that you have been gifted.
The best tomatoes have already been chosen. How many people have picked up this very one, looked at it, squeezed it and put it back, covering it with their own brand of infectious diseases and nastiness. I had the same problem with the blackberries. Every pack had at least a little bit of mold inside. The last thing that I want to worry about is getting fresh produce at the grocery store after I’ve worked all fucking week.
I’m hardly making enough money to live in an apartment, pay for gas and make a dent in my student loans before the interest shovels another few pounds of dirt over my cheaply made coffin. My headstone will read “still trying to make enough money to justify college”. The wheel keeps squeaking on this stupid cart. I work all week and I’m not even rewarded with an easy shopping experience. It’s tedious, boring, redundant and redundant.
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The tomatoes that I get will probably spoil before I can use them. I made a list of meals for the week, but I’d be lying to myself if I told you that I’m going to make them all. I’ll make exactly what I need to, no more and no less, and when I can’t do that, I’ll eat some Fruity Pebbles. Think of the journey that this tomato had to take for me to pick it up, buy it and inevitably throw it away. A farmer had to buy the seeds, plant and grow the tomatoes, wait for however long it takes for tomatoes to grow and then sell them to Giant Eagle. The whole process is probably no less than a month, and I’m going to buy it just to throw it away.
Does the farmer hate me? Do they just enjoy the simplicity of living a life off the land where they work eighteen hours in a day, but don’t listen to anyone but themselves, and that’s why they farm? Do they secretly resent people who eat their product without ever learning how to grow it themselves? I’m fucking useless in the grand scheme of things. I can’t even grow a tomato. If the world broke into anarchy and food stopped being subsidized, I’d be screwed. I can’t even pick a tomato off of the shelf, let alone survive off the land.
If the world broke down that much, who’s to say that I wouldn’t be the guy that grabbed a gun and stormed some poor farmer’s land and stole stuff while they slept. If it broke down that much, I’d be the good guy for doing that considering how many people would Clockwork Orange the farmer and his wife. I’d just be stealing food while other people would be raping and pillaging just for fun. I don’t think I could ever rape someone, even if the world changed that much, but I can’t say for sure. I don’t think I’m the kind of person that would gas a Jew, but Milgram has proven that to be unlikely. Maybe in a different world, I’d be a degenerate rapist, murderer and maybe even a cannibal. I’m sure I’d do it alone too. I don’t think I’d want to spread the wealth with anyone else. I wouldn’t be able to trust anyone in an anarchist world. I wouldn’t even trust myself.
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With no order, the world would be a mess. Right? Well, society has formed from thousands of years of development, and we decided to make a hierarchal system of governing and existing. Is that due to a few people who have lost sight of the greater purpose and their consciousness and created a dictatorship, which was eventually leveled out by the people under it, or is that what people have either subconsciously or consciously chosen? Maybe the more active and conscientious people rise to the top while the complacent and lazy fall to the bottom of the hierarchal foundation. That doesn’t explain today’s world though because of how many hard-working people there are at the bottom end of the class structure that we have. They might only be there through systematic classism, but it could also be because humans can’t function in a way where equality and functionality work the same way.
That could be why communism didn’t work. It’s not that people aren’t capable of working for an equal reimbursement and purpose, but maybe humanity just can’t function without people who give orders and people who take orders. There always needs to be someone telling someone something, and those who are anti-authority are in a constant struggle to get to the top until they are met with odds that are so stacked against them that they stop trying to rise to the top or they make it to a place that they feel comfortable with because in their own mind, they’re in control.
Although gravity is the reason that if I pull a tomato from the bottom of the pyramid they all fall, maybe there is this kind of… weird societal gravity where it’s a constant race to the bottom unless you’re putting in more work than those next to you. If you think of how small we all are in the physical universe, then think of how we stand in a societal structure that feels like a multilevel marketing scheme where everyone was forced to join and can’t get out, then even the people on top are miniscule, but the ones on the bottom, with higher numbers and desire for success, are even smaller.
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Shout out to all of the people who have read, liked, commented on and followed my blog.
Special shout out to odylicious, the creator of bookzone (https://bookblog200.wordpress.com/), since they are, as far as I know, the first person who I haven’t met who is a regular to this blog.
I just think that having reached out to even one person is awesome and I’m pretty pumped. So thank you for your support as I keep posting more and more of my heart, mind and soul on here.
Scott McGrateful
I didn’t have any plans when I started writing this. I just decided that I wanted to write something and began. But lo and behold, that’s the beauty of writing. Nothing that I write has any meaning until I decide to write it, regardless of whether I give it meaning or not. Quite frankly, I don’t even know if that makes sense, but I said it, therefore, giving it sense.
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One paragraph in and I’m sure the absurd content of this writing has already made you forget about the totally nonsensical title that began it. When I first started writing, the title was “Symphony of Death”, but I thought that that was too interesting to not make its own thing, so now it’s “Fleet of Downward Ships”. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a title.
This piece really doesn’t have any significance, does it? It’s interesting because I’ve said nothing memorable, but that makes this inherently memorable. But you’ll think to yourself, with or without this upcoming thought, that you won’t ever actually think about this again, but this is the kind of piece that you will think about at a random time when you’re reading something with more impact and punch, giving this potentially more significance than the other thing that you’re reading, because the thought of this while reading something else gives this more impact than the thing you were already reading.
That doesn’t make a goddamned bit of sense. It’s hilarious in a way, because as you read this, you think it’s stupid. You think you just wasted your time, but all the while, you’re still here. You’re still reading my work. And my work will be what makes you come back for more.
So, as with the Fleet of Downward Ships, this ends with no point, no purpose and no impact, but doesn’t that give it all the purpose that it needs?
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This was an idea that my friend Nikos came up with. I wrote it about a year ago and I still find it to be one of the more existential and unique pieces that I have written. I’ve never been someone who loved school or the education system. I’d even say that I hate it. These are the kinds of thoughts I’ve had since way back in grade school and lasted all the way to college.
The room is desolate. At night, all I see are desks, chairs and cleaning supplies. During the day, I see the same desks and chairs but inhabited by children.
They are so full of energy. The way that they talk. The way that they act. The way that they think. It’s marvelous.
Energy high, the teacher talks to the children, guiding them through their educational journey. They pick up a piece of used chalk and write on my surface. I can feel their emotions flowing as smoothly as the newly drawn line; their true feelings revealed.
Tired and worn as they watch the students go through the same tedious process that they had gone through years earlier. They wish the best for the students but hopes lay low. When they’re young, they are carefree. They have fun. They don’t realize what problems await them.
What’s worse is that they are always so unprepared. I watch these youths and how they talk, act and think. They’re creative. They do exactly what they want to do to have fun. They make the best of everything that they do.
The teacher looks at the kids and wishes that they could still think like they do. Unable to see what’s coming. Unable to feel the pain of the real world.
When a child brings chalk to my surface, it’s the highlight of my day. They are given the freedom to draw whatever is in their young minds. It’s always fun to see and feel their disregard for other opinions. How they share their work with their classmates.
Then, just like the cruel nature of life, an eraser is brought to it, removing it from the world. Taking it from their mind and never giving it back. They are trained from a young age that their thoughts are forgettable. That their creativity isn’t special. That they are just like everyone else.
Seeing how a child grows to become a teacher that wishes that they thought like a child is miserable. It’s a vicious, unforgiving cycle that makes the sanest person wonder how it’s accepted. But what can I do about it? I’m where creativity lies dormant until the end of my existence.
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Next time it rains, find some time to go outside and sit on your porch, patio, balcony or whatever else. If you hate getting wet, bring an umbrella and just listen. If you really let yourself enjoy it instead of worrying about getting wet, you’ll hear nothing but the quiet sounds of raindrops falling, leaves rustling and maybe the occasional boom of thunder. It’s peaceful if you can look at it with a different, less inconvenienced perspective.
Ah… this is delightful. I haven’t felt the soothing touch of rain in a while. It’s been weeks at least. I never thought I’d be happy to say that I forgot my umbrella.
Harmless. The rain is harmless, yet everyone treats it like lava. If it touches someone’s clothing, their day is ruined. Don’t even get me started with wet socks. Everyone bitches about them like they’re dying when really, they’re not that bad.
Everyone around me is running like a maniac, trying to find shelter. It’s fun to watch them panic as if the sky is falling. I’m practically skipping through the growing puddles. The sidewalks are clear of people, except for a person in a rain coat or a person with a large, unwieldy umbrella blowing in the wind. They look ridiculous. All because they don’t want to get a little wet.
Yet, if most of these people went swimming in clothing that was deemed appropriate for water, they’d be happy! Fucking hilarious. I didn’t know societal pressures could make someone lose appreciation for rain. The thing that gives us clean water. The thing that waters our plants. It’s one of the few truly free things left in life and no one appreciates its gentle touch.
I open my mouth as water streams down my face. It’s more refreshing than tap or well. It’s more refreshing than air conditioning. It’s nature at its finest.
The breeze is amazing, too. When I see someone’s umbrella cave in on itself I just about piss myself. Cheap manufacturing has made someone lose money and for what? Just because they didn’t want to get wet? And now they’re even more upset because not only are they wet, but their shit is broken.
If more people could appreciate rain, then they’d be happier more often. They’d like the changing weather and understand the beauty of it instead of just thinking about clear days when really, clear doesn’t mean better. It simply means different.
Ya know, even after saying all of this, I’m glad that everyone seems to hate rain. Everyone in the world experiences it and no one likes it. All that means to me is that I have a little piece of earth that I can enjoy all alone. A piece that’s just as beautiful as the rest. A piece that’s just for me.
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The constant struggle between trying to become something bigger than myself and falling into complacent laziness is one that I have to overcome everyday. I’m not special by saying that. Everyone has different metrics for success. Mine sits much higher than I’ll likely ever be able to reach, but you bet your ass I’m working every day to get closer.
Scott McWorkaholic
Why do I do it? Before I go to sleep, I say I’m going to do something big, something ambitious, something that will give me purpose. Then I wake up, my mind groggy, my eyes cloudy, my brain telling me to stay in bed.
You know what I’m talking about. The idea that you’ve had but never acted on. The activity that you want to do but can’t follow through on. The dream that has never left anything but your thoughts. Whatever it is, you know you’d rather be doing it, but something prevents you.
What is it that you want to do? Do you want to quit a job that you hate? Are you in a relationship that you want to leave? Would you run away and start again if you could?
No matter what it is, you can’t do it. You probably feel shame and guilt. You probably feel angry and depressed. All you want to do is break the cycle of self-loathing. A cycle that has existed for as long as you can remember. A cycle that only you can break, but your mind refuses to change.
I will never understand it. Is it a problem with me and my brain? Or is it a problem with man and human will? No matter the reason, it needs to change.
Is it fear of the unknown? Lack of security? Dislike of change? I don’t know what it is but it’s always there. It nags but will never reveal itself. Maybe it’ll slip up one day and I’ll know what’s stopping me. But even if I did… would I change anything?
If you knew what caused this thing. This nagging feeling in the back of your mind. If you could just put your finger one what the problem was… would you change it?
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As we approach the end of summer, I think about all the time that I spent outside. Every second away from a screen, desk or artificial light was one that I could enjoy and savor. Now we’re at the end and snow will be here before we know it and then there will be another tiring winter of dark, cloudy days. Until that time, I’ll keep trying to get out when I can and enjoy it in the best way possible… with only the sounds of nature accompanying me.
Scott McNaturewalks
The sun shining through the branches. Leaves rustle as a timid wind reveals itself, brushing against your fragile skin. Soil crunches beneath your feet, each step more relaxing than the last.
A stream rolls to your left, it’s tender current hiding a colony of wildlife, seemingly untouched by man. You can feel a coolness as water splashes up onto your ankles, reminding you of how you felt as a child, when you would run through puddles without worry of wet socks or shoes. Birds chirp above you, calls that you have become so used to that you never even notice them, but today they echo like the most beautiful voice you’ve ever heard.
To your right is a wall of rocks, taller than your own home. They’re not part of a mountain or a hill, but instead seem like the sturdy supports of the growing landscape. Water trickles down, drop by drop. Little puddles, no more than a few inches deep sit all around them. Just like the splashing from the river, you make an effort to step into them, not caring if you get wet.
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Insects that would usually disgust you surround you, some in sight and some out. You feel like you belong in their world for once, and it’s beautiful. You are the trespasser, but you feel welcomed by the chirping of crickets and the buzzing of bees.
As you continue to walk, trekking through land that you so frequently forget to appreciate, you stop. You take a deep breath in. The aroma of the running water and the evergreens. The scents left from flowers and trees. Your senses are overtaken by this… this simple beauty that you so often ignore. But that doesn’t matter, for you are appreciating it now, and this moment will remain one of your fondest until the very end.
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I pour my heart into the shit that I put out here. It may not be super new, but at some point I did pour my heart into it. I have no problem revealing myself in what I write and showing my true goals. I would love to be a famous writer. I would love to see some of my bigger writing turned into movies and TV shows and whatever else it may be. For now, I work to push through the ideas of grandeur and instead write new pieces or edit the ones that I have or send my stuff to agents or blah, blah, blah… but I promise that I poured my heart into this tiny little short just the same.
Scott McLunatic
Another invention, idea and creation. Another attempt, trial and effort. I throw another finger into the trash, then get right back to it again.
The trash can is overflowing with torn ligaments, bones and muscles. The stench of trying is starting to make the paint peel from the mildew covered walls. Maggots keep eating away at the wounds on my body, making them tingle in an unwelcomed, uncomfortable way.
I tear another piece away from my body, this time a toe. It bounces from the overflowing trash and lands next to it, promptly covered by the bugs. They bite, chew and gnaw until only bone is left. Another missing piece is nothing that I can’t handle. It doesn’t bother me much.
I take another shot, this time it fails just as much as the last. It was bigger than the last. I skip past the fingers and throw my whole hand into the bin. It makes a sad, hollow sound as it bounces from the already exposed bones of other lost limbs.
The rotting flesh stings my nose hairs, but that just makes me try harder, pushing all of my remaining body to the limit until smoke starts to fill the room. I feel the fire touch my legs, and instead of stomping it out, I let it consume me. My legs burn before the bugs can get to it and that gives me a sick sense of thrill. It almost feels like I’m living through the flames that consume me.
Before I know it, I have to throw another limb into the trash, but as I look down, there isn’t anything left. My fingers and toes. My hands and feet. My arms and legs. Everything’s gone, except for the ghost of a man who would discard every bit of his body, just to touch the ounce of soul that’s underneath.
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It’s easy to think about how completely and totally expendable we are as humans. We have no apparent purpose except to go around and live. Some of us are living the lives that they hoped to live and others are farther from it than they ever thought they’d be, but no matter the quality of life, the meaning is still just as superficial. We make the best of what we have and that’s all anyone can ever ask for, but it could end in any moment.
I’m sure you’ve heard about people who live every day like it’s their last, hell, there’s a Nickelback song about that, and that’s a scary thought to a lot (I’ll leave that up to interpretation). Why live each day like it’s your last? That seems to make everyday that’s not lived like that purposeless. I frequently take days to just relax and do what I want, and those are some of my favorite days, even if I don’t dedicate time to the gym or some shelter or whatever else may present itself. Even if the world ended right now, I would be okay with that (not that I would have much of a say about it anyway). Everyday that I have is pretty good, no matter if it’s me going through a depressive fit, laying in bed until 4 PM, the only motivator to get up being the need to pee, or spending my whole day working towards my most eccentric dreams. Today is good. Tomorrow is good. Yesterday was good. They’re all good, even when they’re not.
When I look at the stars, I feel completely and totally expendable. At any moment, I could die, hit by a car that I didn’t see, or worse yet, Earth could rupture from acts of God that no one ever expected. There could be meteors, supermassive volcanos or even extraterrestrial beings that conquer species for the fun of conquering.
Maybe a far away star will super nova and, while we watch from the comforts of Earth, another species that we’ve never seen or understood could vanish from existence, disappearing faster than a shooting star.
In the blink of an eye, we could just… cease; no longer existing in a traditional sense, but instead our atoms will become some cosmic dust that might help to create new life, or just drift around for billions of years until it forms into a new star.
If multiverse theory is correct, then in one of the universes, someone identical to me existed and died, turned to cosmic dust, then after hundreds of millions of years, the cosmic dust formed again and created an exact, identical copy of me. It could have been this universe for all we know. Maybe humans have existed in many times and forms, and this is just the most recent in a long line of evolutions.
For all we know, the universe isn’t anything like we have guessed so far. What if the universe that we know so well is inside of a black hole. Maybe black holes suck in all sorts of cosmic dust and spit it out on the other side, and another universe is created in the infinitely small mass in the center. What if we exist in a never-ending series of being sucked up by black holes until we get to wherever we are now. For all the times that scientists have questioned what physics exist inside of one of these mysterious objects, we might already know.
No matter how we exist or in what state, we don’t matter. We could be in a simulation that some greater species could shut down at any moment. We could be in a universe filled with species that are much smarter than humans can ever hope to become. We might even live in this universe, with no life other than what’s here on Earth, and no hope of predicting or avoiding our inevitable extinction.
Maybe tonight, after I’m comfortably in bed, dreaming of whatever comes to my mind, the world ends. That would be poetic. For all of the fear and anxiety that I get from that thought, it might be the most serene thing to happen to humanity; ending this current evolution like we’re nothing and trying again. Maybe I’ll make another me that has the same thoughts. No matter what theory pans out, my thoughts and actions will live on somewhere. I am just as infinite as the possibilities for extinction.
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Acceptable Madness 