To M

Lukas Allen

            To save time and add concrete history to my life, saving time on all the small talk, I will put together a little report of crucial events in my life that maybe you’d like to know.

            You may or may not remember me from days of ages past. My first memory of you was when I went to a football game with a close friend in middle school. I met you, then left, riding home in the rain. I can’t remember much more than that, even though I strangely felt really happy riding my bike through the rain. It is so strange remembering something like that. I know it exists, I undoubtedly know I did this, but I feel very detached from the memory in a way, like looking down on myself from the third person, as I smiled and laughed on my bike in the rain.

            I remember bits and pieces of meeting or seeing you other times, one time we walked in a group, other times I fleetingly noticed you randomly. These bits and pieces are wholly unimportant and unnecessary for this piece of writing, but I just thought you’d like to know we were scarcely interspersed in each other’s lives, which led up to my own infatuation and fall when I was 18.

            This next bit you had no position in my life and were actually completely unimportant to me, as I had been depressed on and off through high school. Freshman and Junior year I felt super good, strong, and happy. I worked out all the time, I made great friends, I had fun. Sophomore and Senior year I was so depressed that I wanted to “walk out those doors and not come back.” The depression senior year when I was 18 was the worst. I was a burnout, I smoked pot all the time with a mean group of friends, I believed life was horrible, unable to live in, and I planned on taking my own life at the quarry cliffside by the school.

            I snuck through the broken fence part, and went to the quarry cliffside. In that dense fog of depression, I believed I had no reason to live, thus also no reason to die. I would let a coin decide if I should live or die. I flipped the quarter onto the cliffside, heads I would jump, tails I would not.

            I got tails.

            But I was not satisfied, so I said best two out of three, and flipped again.

            I got tails.

            I thought something was fucking with me here, because I wanted to die. I flipped again.

            I got tails.

            Frustrated at this damned chance, I flipped the coin off the ledge and said to myself, well, I said I wouldn’t jump if I got tails, so I didn’t jump. I shambled back to my car in despair, unable to find meaning in life.

            Later, after I had graduated from that sad senior year, I decided to find meaning in my life with a revelation of some sorts. I used a hallucinogen, LSA, (my initials,) or also called Lysergic Acide Amide, commonly found in morning glory seeds or Hawaiian baby woodrose seeds. This is a legal seed to buy, and eat, although if enough is chewed and swallowed, the seeds are strong hallucinogens.

            I had a horrible trip. I hazardously used drugs when I was not in a fit mind state. My body was strong, I worked out constantly, but my mind was still on that cliffside in a way, ready to jump off the ledge.

            The curtains breathed, I threw up on the floor, and maniacally made art all across the walls of my room. I was too hot, I needed to get outside, so I rambled around my hometown shirtless and aimless, epiphanies every few seconds.

            Then I felt it. As I looked up to the blue sky, I was everything, everywhere, always. I felt like how God must feel.

            Then it passed, and I was back on Earth.

            I wandered through the town, trying to cling to the revelations I was experiencing. I inevitably found a truth so awful that it broke my drugged out mind, and subsequently allowed me to smash a window with my fist as I had always felt an urge to do.

            The truth was that it was a lie.

            The truth is a lie. And vice versa.

            Nothing I experienced was true life, but I continued even further than this paradox, and believed in crazy ideas as my reality crumbled.

            I was treated, after I was found at the backdoor of my friend’s apartment, with no criminal allegations against me. My dad had even paid the window owner back.

            I subsequently throughout this time had tried contacting you. You did not ever answer, except for the first few times. I sent a message, it was seen apparently, but no response. This was you, and I remembered your real name, as I called myself Balthazar, a sort of reidentification for myself. Something you told me is that your grandma said that “the eyes are the window to the soul.”

            I tortured myself wondering why you would not respond, as my mind continued to decay. Eventually I wondered why exactly, why you or anyone did not care.

            I came to another truth, which was a random thought that crossed my mind. I thought I must’ve been abused some way, and just couldn’t remember it, by my father. This was not your fault. I just did not know how to cope anymore, and attacked my dad at home, waking him up and punching him in the face with the same hand I broke the window with.

            But, somehow, I held back.

            I continued to shout and yell, all sorts of nonsense. The cops showed up, as my mother had called them, and instead of defusing the situation they charged me with all sorts of crimes against the police. Assault on a police officer being one of them. I HATE that officer, who seemed to have some sort of grudge against me, and also appeared later in my life again. I know his name, I know who he is… and I despise that man.

            They told me they were arresting me, after I thanked them for getting me out of the house.

            They filed false allegations against me, claiming I was spitting at the officers.

            They threw me to the sidewalk, claiming I was pushing against the cop car, when I was just fucking trying to get in the damned car.

            I continued to shout crazily, and they took me to a hospital, then to jail.

            My mind was broken, and continued to break, as my reality unraveled into a realistic hell.

            My parents had bailed me out after a few days, then I was on house arrest. Still with psychosis, I cut the GPS bracelet off my ankle and ran away. I fled to my drug dealer’s house, my friend. He brought me back to town, and I mistakenly believed I was safe at another friend’s house. This other friend’s girlfriend called the cops on me, as I was on my way home after my friend told me to go home.

            The same cop drove up, putting plastic gloves on as he approached me. I had my father’s guitar, resting on my shoulder after I fled with it. I saw the cop, and threw the knife my friend had given me that I cut the bracelet off with. The cop retrieved this knife, and apparently according to his report had a taser pointed at my back. I just told him I wanted to go home, as he followed me. Another officer crossed my path, and arrested me once again. I had to beg them not to leave the guitar, my dad’s guitar, on the curb of the road.

            Then I was transferred to that other cop, and he drove me to the county jail. He told me to be silent, after I said sorry for saying I wanted to kill him in my previous rage and psychosis. I continued to be silent, as the bastard played the worst country music available in his cop car.

            I spent time in jail, about six months, I think. It was horrible, but deserves its own space of words outside of this report.

            When my parents posted bail again, with at least three felonies put against me (assault on an officer, concealed weapon, and bail jumping,) I was so happy to feel the sun, to eat good food, and listen to beautiful, effervescent music. It took three years to be freed of those charges by pleading insanity, drug induced psychosis the court conclusion came to, as I went to college and dropped out because I couldn’t deal with the dual stress of college and court.

            But I was free. I am no felon. The Cubs even won the world series as soon as I was. I was so happy.

            I went to Europe with my brother, I was invited to that friend’s wedding with his girlfriend, but since we had problems before the day of the wedding, I left them and would not talk to my friend in a good long while, even if I was a groomsman. I worked at a grocery store, with my life back on track once more.

            My mind fractured again, as I sent someone I had a crush on some writing of mine which contained trauma and secrets of mine. Then I heard the voices.

            It was horror in real life. I was so scared, confused, and I wanted to end my life again just so my torment could stop.

            They were always there.

            They never gave me a break.

            VOICES.

            I could and have written more about this torment, so check out some of my other work or feel free to ask me questions about them.           

            It is now five years with voices as well as other hallucinations, but my treatment seems to be providing me sanctity from the evil everywhere, that originated from my own mind.

            I talked to you, last year February, as I was having a psychotic relapse from not taking my medication, believing I would be ok.

            Now, we can actually speak once again. I feel like that is a remarkable accomplishment, for you were one of the voices that tormented me as well. Now, I can diverge horror and reality, and debunk the voices with a real person that some of the voices were inspired from, who the voices have impersonated.

            Whatever our relationship, I am content that we can call each other friends at least currently.