Just for the Hell of It

It was one of those classic times for me. Crazy and not giving a damn. I used to roam the city in my car while fighting my demons and writing lyrics and ideas down. This was best done at night, preferably in the winter when everything seems to be dead. The world, society, just fucking life, feels silent in it's movement....beautiful.

I had a girlfriend at the time, and it was pretty serious, but she was completely oblivious to some of the things I did. She found no reason for me doing certain things, and frankly I wouldn't have any reasons for doing the things I did either. Reasons can become complicated, so lets just simplify things with no reasons. I am just fucking crazy and I did what I did. So to make it easier for her the best thing I could do was not tell her about certain things I did, unless of course, she would ask. Because in asking you are showing interest in learning, so I'd always give it a shot when I could. Usually I'd fail with my reasons but feel no regret because at least I tried.

Ideas and thoughts really can blow your mind when you’re on a hunt to catch them. I felt comfortable being alone because I had so many friends with me already. Another person with all of their thoughts, ideas and feelings would be too many friends at once, so I had to travel alone. No one except people who knew me best respected my journey, and that’s exactly why I would continue paving my own path through my pain. They saw me as a miserable, sad, and lost boy—and I most certainly was. But at the same time I knew that there was something to be learned while traveling in the dark. There was just as much to obtain in meeting my demons as there was in riding with the angels, and in some cases sometimes more than I ever imagined or was prepared for.

So other people's approval of my journey was not important to me. They just did not understand and that's okay because I didn't understand what I was doing either, but I knew there was something there. Something mysterious and fearful which sparked my curiosity. So I would plunge deeper into the unknown while realizing in doing so I was accepting all possible outcomes.

I felt as if things were already bad enough. I mean, I was recording a CD by myself and knew that if I didn't get it all out on record these pains would forever have a hold on me. On top of doing what I knew I could do best (make music), I was without a doubt going crazy while doing what I wanted to do. Awake for days, no food, and taking comfort in my pills—and a whole lot of them too. If I could get any drug to take with my pills I would gladly choose that over a cheese sandwich or a good nights sleep. I was driving with a license to do "whatever it takes" to fulfill the things I wanted to do. No one could stop me, and I couldn't even stop myself.

My ability to accept death as I accepted life gave me courage to put myself in harms way. I knew I was hurting myself at times but did not fear what could happen to me. I just did it so I could go on with my journey. Yes, I was using drugs to escape but I was also using them to trap the knowns and unknowns that I wanted to explore.

Most would say that this was selfish. I would say that I was selfish in my attempt to succeed, and what the hell is wrong with that? Just because I was doing it alone and without anyone's advice doesn’t mean that I will always do it that way. It was just that this particular journey called for me to be alone and alone in everything….my thoughts, my actions, my emotions, my ideas, and even my triumphs. So in a way you are selfish for not letting me go and do what I need to do. This is why reasons became complicated, because no matter how much I would try to explain why am doing something the other person felt that they were right about my wrongs. That is what made them become selfish.....the fact that I was being selfish.

It was just one delusional episode after another. I would get so caught up in voices that I would hear, and things that I saw, that I would become like a detective with a never ending investigation to pursue. Numbers and letters that I would see now became codes and signs. The Shadow people became suspects and the voices became evidence. They were given to me as messages that lead to even more questions and answers and more messages. I was a walking decode machine. I examined and analyzed everything as if it were telling me something. I could care less what people thought of me during these times. For I was working on something big, and felt great importance and significance in the journey. I believed in myself even when I was the craziest motherfucker walking down the street. I had intent. I intended on finishing my recordings no matter what. I intended on receiving and analyzing all messages and signs for deeper enlightenment along the way. I intended on investigating all leads. The things I wasn't intending on became what I learned the most from. They became the worst and best things that have ever happened to me.

This intent, or journey, took a toll on me and everyone around me. My girlfriend of one and a half years was shattered with frustration. My risks became what eventually broke us up. She hated me because she did not understand me. And this broke her heart because she also loved me so much, and I loved her too. It was best that we split in the end. I would have hated to have been constantly explaining the things that she did not understand about me and I think she would have hated it too. So I think we were just intended to bump into each other for awhile….and life went on.

So what did all of these signs mean? Well, besides them meaning I was completely fucking crazy, a lot. They provided me with the insight that I needed to become a better friend to myself. All of my strengths and weaknesses, all of my flaws and perfections, all of my ugliness, and all of my beauty. They let me accept the things about myself that were hard to accept. My craziness is not a crutch. It is an opportunity to explore—as everything else is.