Denature

I wrote this a day after Halloween, which was a horrible, horrible night to have gone through. If there was a Top 10 Mortifying Moments list for my life, it would definitely have made the top 3. October was a horrid month for me, so I was, I guess, kind of out of it at that point. It's funny how you lose your head and don't even realise what you're doing sometimes. So well, I wrote, and then forgot all about it. I was going through my stuff when I saw this:

Implode. OED might have a proper meaning for it, but my definition is: when I find myself doing things, thinking about things and accepting things which I never thought I would. Which I judged people for. And now, it's a constant lack of clarity and good judgement, with only divine intervention saving my sorry ass by a measly shot. Maybe it's all the hurt and the anger, but losing all ideas of moral right and wrong, sticking out my middle finger to the world and whizzing through life always struck me as an incredibly stupid thing to do. And yet, here I am. Open as a trashy tabloid, so people can talk, point fingers, laugh.

I'm giving them something to talk about.

And that something is me. I don't quite comprehend how I manage to do so, but putting myself in situations which invite public humiliation, labelling, gossipping seems to have become my forte somehow. I'm a disaster careening towards a night in jail because I went 150 Mph on a road with a speed limit of 30 Mph, and the cops are catching up to me. They're moving in, and when they do, my facade will fade and I'll be like a deer caught in headlights. When the truck hits, the ground will move from under my feet, the world will take a 360 degree spin and I'll go on a 20 second high before I call it quits and exit, time's up on stage child, move along, move on.

When I'm looked at,and I know I'm being whispered about, smirked at, I know. It's not paranoia. I know because I allow it. So next time you stop and stare, know that I know, since it's because of me that you know. And this doesn't make sense, but neither does anything else at this point. It's just an inborn sense that everyone has, which prevents people from doing things out in the open because well....they'd be judged...yeah. Which I'm choosing to ignore. You might say, fuck judgement and fuck people, but you'll mostly hear it from:

a) Guys who want to fuck you.
b) People who've been screwed over, or have messed around so much they really don't have anything else to say.

So that's where I'm getting my pearls of wisdom from these days.

And why is all this hitting me now?

Because, the realisation I'm better than this resurfaced last night after a particularly embarrassing incident. I wasn't drunk. I wasn't high. I was in my senses. Because even without doing something, it's sick how you can fit into a certain mould at a certain time, and suspend all concepts of reality, what you're used to.

Then why would I deliberately put myself in a situation like that? It was something like having the brakes of your car fail and crashing through your windshield. In my head, that's what I was doing.

I know what I want. Need.

I thought it was all over, I'd move on like that *poof* and it'd be gone. But it's not, and of late, because of it, I've become the epitome of stupidity. There's no one to hold responsible, it's all me, but the longing exists. There's only one thing I want. I'd give up the world for it. It's not a case of grab the stars and moon for you if you asked me to love. It's a plain cry to make someone see how wrenching a right away from something only leads to a place for wrong because the jigsaw doesn't fit any other way. Like when you denature an enzyme, it's permanently gone. Sayonara.

And I just plead to you, don't denature me.

But you're hopeless and helpless. So I blame myself.

Thank you God for saving my ass, and knocking sense into me because of what happened. Please keep saving my ass. Amen.