07 Mar Honesty, Ain’t That The Truth
Honesty, what is that anyway, and does it really exist between any two human beings?
Personally, I don’t think so. Honesty is one of those things which is nice in theory, but in reality does more harm than good. Like sexual relations in the sand, or doing another line just before bed. The best you can hope for is that people will be honest when it counts, and good at lying the rest of the time.
Forgive me if I seem a little bit negative or sombre, but I feel somewhat negative and sombre, and I am going to try as much as anyone can to be honest about how I feel. It would be fairly easy for me to talk about the beautiful blue ocean or white sandy beaches. I could regale you with tales of adventure from around the world, or feasts and ancient marvels that I have encountered in my travels. Basically I could blah blah blah for another three or four paragraphs and paint a picture of marvel that most of you would envy. I could even do it in style and a number of you would say “Aah, it’s almost like being there.”
But I don’t feel that way. Very rarely do I suggest that “waves whisper against my naked feet as I am welcomed home by the primordial sea of my birth.” More often than not, if I just stick my feet in the fuckin’ water and they get wet, I’ll say “I put my feet in the fuckin’ water, and they got wet.”
Prose has its place, as do tales of far-away lands and adventure. They can be honest, but rarely are they personal, rarely do they contain a person. I try for the most part to display a person in what I write, but often this does not happen, and what you get could easily be a lonely planet companion or a bad case of “I sold my soul to make this shit sound good”.
Right now though, I feel like being honest, and to be honest, I kind of feel like shit. Before I am swarmed with too many words of encouragement (by swarmed I mean the few charitable people who comment once in awhile, thanks again, and please continue), I already know that these feelings are for the most part temporary. I realize that the Champix is doing its worst and sending my emotions into a spiral, while the not smoking is making me want to beat the crap out of anyone who dares to crab walk in front of me, or breathe.
However knowing it does not reverse the chemical arrangement these two forces are conspiring to inflict upon me. I have for the last three days not written anything, not created anything, and pretty much not done anything except eat. I do in fact feel worse now than when I gave up speed and weed. It is not like I am going to kill myself, or break down into a blubbering mess. I just feel agitated, all the time.
I know it will pass, I know sooner or later I will get back to my semi nonchalant mind-how-you-go sorta self. Right now though, I am sooo easily annoyed. It makes me wonder how people go through their lives like this. Not the giving up smoking bit, but always angry or jealous, always scared or wanting, hoping or lost. It helps me understand why there is so much bull-crap in the world, and how people can be so blind to their part in it.
We often question the actions of others. “How could he murder her?” “How could she kill herself?” “Why does he keep masturbating in public places?” “He doesn’t care about anything but himself”. Her money, his glory and so on. We ask how people could be the way they are, very rarely questioning the way we are. If we do, we seldom see past those things which we are judged upon, and if we are close to being normal for our subset, we notice even less our shortcomings.
But we are all subject to ebbs and flows of emotion. We all work our way around right and wrong as the chemical flow dictates our moods. We think we know how and why we react the way we do, yet for the most part we are hardly ever aware of how our emotions are dictated by what is running through our veins. An external stimuli may set us off, but we will react depending on our neural pathways and the chemicals fed through our system. Yet we still cannot comprehend an outcome outside of how we feel right now.
Today you may question how a person could commit murder. Tomorrow you could commit one yourself. All it would take is the right external stimuli, and the wrong internal flush of chemicals.
Before anyone deletes me from their social media of choice. Fret not, I am not going to kill anybody. I am not going to do much more than turn on the TV and bury myself in junk food for a few more days. I have just become annoyingly aware of how little control my “essence” has over my actions.
Sure I can sit here now and contemplate and divulge, but in an hour or so, I will probably feel very different about things and could write a post completely contradicting this one. Such is the psychosis of human beings. We like to think we know who we are, but it takes so little to change that notion of “I”.
I am probably not going to commit any sort of atrocity against myself or anyone else. I’m not even really that sad or angry anymore. From when I started writing this to when I finished, things have changed. I thought they would, but I just wanted to be honest. As honest as any human being can be.