I never dream of being rich. Sometimes I think it’s because I’m happy with my poverty – less cash equals less ‘things’ and less stress. Less stuff means you have more time to think and feel that you’re alive. Cogito Ergo Sum, you see.
But enough about old French Philosophy and Latin phrases you can hang a noose on. These things aren’t helpful on the wide plains of life when a posse is closing in and you are riding a lame horse. Anyhow, Rene Descartes didn’t live for a single second longer because he realised he could prove his own existence. And neither will you.
I guess the real reason I never dream of wealth is that some day I’ll inherit it. The safety net is below me at all times. It’s an ugly truth and, actually, I’m not proud of it. But being crazy is easier when you go all the way – suicide attempts, symptomatic check-boxing, poverty, loneliness, alienation. In my experience you either go all the way in and accept the whole smorgasbord of mental illness, or you are derided by everybody. It’s easier to make snide comments behind the back of someone who’s half functioning than it is to mock someone laying in a pool of their own blood and vomit. Am I right? Of course I am. I’ve been there, I’ve lain there. Nobody laughed at my suicide attempts, but they were lining up beforehand to crack jokes. I suppose people got the proof from me that they needed. Didn’t make me feel any better either way.
Where does that leave us?
I’m not sure. I was alright about this whole thing until I started to think about waking up staring down at my own vomit. The stuffing has been knocked out of me now. What was I talking about? Wealth…yeah that was it. Seems so fucking stupid in the scheme of what is going through my head at the moment. The screen is blurry, mind isn’t still, body is itching to move out of danger. Yet I’m still typing. Bizarre.
Medication. That’s the key here. This post has turned from something bad to something worse. That is the way of things, generally, as it goes. There must be a DBT skill somewhere at the back of my mind. Nope. Can’t think of it.
I need to go out into the sunshine. Take a moment to think. Ground myself in the knowledge I’m alive. I guess Descartes was no fool after all.