It was a struggle to get to sleep last night. So, I was up for a greater part of the morning. Maybe, around 4 or so. My thoughts were completely turbulent, flames burning brightly in my head. I lied naked above my covers, fingers running through my hair, only a candle faintly flickering and the fan blowing; My simplicity and serenity. I should have found peace in these moments. But, I didn’t. I fought to writhe with frustration; Feverish.
I’ve become increasingly lonely in these past few months. My heart is still warmed by who I come to meet and what I see. But, my way holds no similarities to those around me. I operate on a completely different level. I see this world from a completely different perspective. I want different things. I find less and less people investing in what truly holds worth; what holds worth by my standards at least. And, there is no progression towards a sound character, sound soul, sound heart, change for the betterment of our human disposition. It is solely focused on the surface level, superficiality, sex, drugs, technological progression instead of altruistic progression. Where are the Robin Hoods, the Gandhis, the John Lennons, the Mirabais, the John F Kennedys, the Cat Stevens, the Mother Teresas, the Che Guevaras? Where have all the revolutionaries gone? Seemingly, everyone has given up.
But, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is the way.
I can’t say what this passion really is. It’s love. But, it’s so much more than that. And, I would never be able to express that to you or instill that in you.
Two nights ago I met a man named Bobby.
Me and two of the loveliest friends I’ve had the pleasure of having, Melodie and Zachary, went to Waffle House to get some coffee. We moved and laughed and talked as we normally would. We decided to go outside for a cigarette and to enjoy the night air as we normally would. But, were pulled into a very strange situation. A young man was sitting a few from us on the curb seeming distraught. He was extremely skinny, with wild blonde hair. He’d occasionally rest his hands on his knees. I would glance at him and feel obligated to find if he was alright or not. But, I left him be at that moment. Zachary, Melodie, and I continued to enjoy our night. The young man got up and went to sit behind the wall on the other side of us. We didn’t really think much of it. Some time passed when a man, whom I would later find was simply a neighbor, and a single mother peeled into the parking lot around ten thirty or so looking for a runaway. They said he’d walked about two or three miles from home. They described the young man sitting on near us and expressed that his name was Bobby, that he was struggling with happiness at home, that he was a paranoid schizophrenic. We told them that we had seen him and that he had moved behind the wall.
He walked inside with them. They ordered food. They ate. We didn’t really think a great deal of it, only felt compassion for Bobby. They came back out. The mother was stumbling. The man was trying to coax Bobby into the car so they could take him home. He was silent and rigid, he would not go with them. Melodie and I watched this scene for sometime, feeling as though we should help in some way. The mother stayed near the car, wobbling and mumbling. She had clearly been intoxicated in some way and hardly concerned with the situation or Bobby. I got up and went to her to make sure she didn’t need anything. When I walked up to the open door, she was seated in the car with her legs hanging outside seeming somewhat startled by my approach. I asked her if there was anything I could do to help her. She slurred a thank you and got out of the car abruptly to search for something; a cigarette. She had difficulty holding her things so I helped her fish out her pack. She had difficulty finding her lighter, so I handed her my lighter and held her hands while she tried to avoid catching the wind. She then started to express to me her hopelessness with Bob.
“I just don’t know what to do. He used to be happy.”
For a while, the man sat behind the wall trying to coax Bob into the car. Impatient, the he came back behind the wall and asked for a cigarette. He told us that Bob had done this many times. He’d sometimes be gone for days. And, told us the last time he did this they had to stuff him into the trunk and he banged and fought the entire way home. Eventually and very strangely, the man suggested that I try to talk to Bobby. So, without reserve, I got up and walked over to him. The man and the mother left me to try and get him into the car. But, that wasn’t what I wanted to do. I simply wanted to make Bobby feel like he had someone there for him, genuinely concerned for him. I asked him if everything was alright. He looked at me. His eyes were sunken in, red, and filled with light tears. He shifted uncomfortably, glanced back to make sure they weren’t around and then asked my name. He said very little after I told him. Eventually Melodie and Zach came to sit with me as well. He was quiet, but he would smile on occasion. The man came back over, and was visibly irritated. He continued to prod and press Bob. He was incredibly cold and I became more and more disgusted by it. I started to laugh at the things he said. Bobby still didn’t budge. He wasn’t going with them. He got up and ran to hide. The man and the mother gave up and left him.
We found him sitting underneath a tree. We sat with him for a while. He would have small, random things to say. He’d high five Zach. He’d ask me and Mel questions. After a while of this, we went back into the W-House, enjoyed another cup of coffee, and then left. I remember feeling so awful sitting in that booth.
On the way home, I felt my guilt and frustration grow. I wondered where Bobby would end up, what he would be subjected to, how lonely his world would be. Where did Bobby’s peace lie? What’s more, I could do nothing to help any of this. I’ve no understanding of how it’s justified for a person to be dealt this kind of hand.
I couldn’t sleep that night. It was another night of distress and feeling less than worthy of my passionate nature towards all.
I ask, heaven, Shangri-La, Paradise, A Great Magnet, can you see what I see? If so, where is the health? Where is the happiness? Where is the revolution? Why are there so many who have to suffer?
I’ve to question what the lesson in this suffering is. What are we trying to be taught? What are we supposed to hear? I don’t want to see it anymore. It’s heavy on me. I’m not as big as I’d like to be. I will do less than what I would like to do. And, it’s become painfully obvious.
I beg, send us an angel.
What’s more, none of this matters to most. It doesn’t truly penetrate them as it does me. And, I am made to feel absurd for it. It’s become exhausting. And, I have to wonder if I really am absurd.
As the prospect of attending a university closes in on me, I’m becoming overwhelmingly disgusted with the thought of pursuing something that will do our human population absolutely no real good. I’m at such a loss.