Insanity, It Seemed

“Do you have the time
To listen to me whine?” - Green Day, “Basketcase”

2008 was rather a bastard of a year – cancer made a splashing comeback to my otherwise sprightly existence and more likely, this dabbed napalm on my mother’s heart that pronounced her dead one regular day in October.

For a while, the world screeched to a halt – there’s a panic of the senses, terror at a dreary future, paranoia about being the crux to the dimming of spark of everyone in your magic circle. The mountain of guilt perched on my shoulder is what Ben Okri calls “unfinished weeping,” my own Calvary of sadness that seeks but never finds settlement, a home to rest - forces me to be tough beyond my wildest imagination.

I kicked my mother to her grave, depriving my siblings the comfort of her presence. It’s a bitter pill and no matter how I rebuff myself that I am not God, that I am just a slave to this Supreme Being, this guilt-trip won’t reach its shore for a while.

No one needs to understand my point, I just had to let it out. Finally, I had the guts to revisit what I call my “insanity journal,” recorded at a time my morale needed babysitting. Being sick and physically weak alters one’s sense of self and my scribbling a good part of last year was astonishingly dark and lonely, gibberish at most times. I could hardly decipher my handwriting as I was too weak to even write.

I leafed through my older journals. The writing was gibberish still as if feverishly drunk but those notebooks were adorned with comic strips, lyrics, poems, cut-outs of horoscope and war pictures, cards, snapshots of my favorite musicians and players, drawings done by cousins and friends, concert tickets, what-have-you. Colors screamed from the pages.

The “insanity journal” however is a sad documentation. I cringed just reading the entries on the anniversary of my long confinement. Here’s what I am talking about:

Entry 1: Sleep is a commodity I cannot buy. How could it be elusive?

Entry 2: A symphony of dog barks from several blocks away provides me company.

Entry 3: I am staring at nothing in particular. I just want to close my eyes. My thoughts stray but not too far.

Entry 4: Plan for the day: fold dried clothes.

Entry 5: It’s about to rain. I hear the roaring thunder. I love the sound of raindrops.

Entry 6: A week without mishap, just the general feeling of harmony, of being in harmony with the world. I wish for a kinder world – less cruel and brutal for our chidren. It’s still raining.

Entry 7: Georgelablab is terrified of thunder, hides under the sofa and only comes out when it’s all quite.

Entry 8: I feel weak today, not been eating very well. Terrible taste buds.

Entry 9: Two days wedded to the bed – nagging cough. Just spend the hours coughing, terrible.

Entry 10: Today’s a Friday. It means we’ll be complete for lunch tomorrow.

Reading these entries again tempts me to pick a match and set the “insanity journal” on fire. If only I could disavow ever writing this crap and drink some liquid-poison.

Bastard of a writing, sonofabitch.