Thinking in terms of trains. Not quite the obsession just hear the lesson in each neighborhood since childhood. Sets on the floor. Days to set up and more minutes to explore. The thought to add a few more cars to the track. Research the connection to each tunnel through which each wheel passes for a brief moment beyond the realization of the observer.
Power source seems so innocent. Quick decision to spend more money on more parts to start a new ride. Inside the tunnel each connecting car runs without the need for an engine. The energy of itself carries it with the proverbial caboose. The train keeps running. It just keeps running. The cars no longer strictly connected. They run alone without power, with a power all of their own. The whole set is unplugged and full of tunnels. Still they run. No longer fun. The job of the track to keep all intact has failed miserably. Now they run scattered across basement floors to search and discover for more stops. Crowds make connections but I assume they will all be late. I am sure that I will be as well. I can’t tell where the enigmatic engine is. The tracks are just a puzzle to muzzle the vibration. The energy within is stimming like a steam engine as I approach red. Just lay on the tracks, on the back, on the basement floor. There’s the door but first must muster the many cars to realign into a track design. Must connect the train of thought to the real reason it was bought for such a price. Too tired to engineer anything meaningful. The train runs away again. Hopefully it hits the breaks before it breaks apart of me. Too tired to chase. The steam has morphed into dew. Whew! Now there is time but no steam to do anything but stare at the wet basement floor that I thought about cleaning up all day.
Four seasons of medications that tease the sand like the rain on a sunny day. Oceanic under tow flows perpetually often stealing an unsuspecting visitor to the shoreline. Ignore the education. A brief moment to explore the beautiful depths with scuba gear and a breath. Then the wind of the waves rip the side of the vessel. Gravity exists in such a way. Now the enemy of the surface. The surfers can no longer see my face. Still wondering just how deep this decent into depressions may be. There is definitely not enough air from here to there. Calculate the fear or just enjoy the final view of the underwater tomb stones. I knew it would end this way. So dark and cold. Life swims above. Far above. For the first time I see light vanish. A race for eyes to adjust to the new blindness of old darkness. Others are near but who cares when they are not seen. So it’s a million miles to the next breath. It’s a millisecond before I heard my own muffled sound. Counting down to when there is one left. Shhh! Thoughts seem to make an echo. Echo
seems to make another thought. The pressure is almost unbearable. The end is just above the waves. The bottom has never been seen. The life in the jacket has become straight. The boat rocks. It’s almost my turn to fall in.
Uncertainty is for certain. What never changes is that things change. Same questions asked of me, again, this time with a new voice. Suppose the last notes were untrustworthy. Suppose the last notes were private. This Doctor needs to hear for herself rather than trust the several before her who asked the same exact, the same exact questions.
Not very optimistic that this was the last initial interview. Want to review soon, you know, just in case things are seen differently, this time around. Like, am I still OCD? Or Manically depressed or just obsessed with not knowing the proper diagnosis, that seemingly changes as much as a mood of a bipolar friend. Wait, I have no friends, that was an allusion to the illusion that people actually care for more than themselves.
Next month, another call to see if the formal medication, formerly prescribed, now described to me again, as a solution. This time the bottles will have the same name, new dose, with a new name. Wait, does it matter who prescribed the medication initially? Were they wrong? Must accept the diagnosis is the mantra of more than a few. What is it this time?
The trail of prescribed labels tells a fable of trouble in the past. They also gather in the morning and speak of stable days that pass away without much thought. I can not remember when last night ended, but the bottle is open. I tried to sleep, so I think. The bottle is open. So I tried to stop thinking, or so I think.
Better to think in weeks and not days. Better to eat something, anything. When was the last glass of water? Must have been last week. The week I found the open pill bottle. It was a week ago, just like it was yesterday. I slept last week, just like it was last night. I have an appointment tomorrow. I hope to arrive sometime next week.
This is the question that erupts against common knowledge. An idle mind is open to calmness while the active mind is prone to burn out. An idle mind is open to suggestions while the active mind is ready for action.
What shall I choose? Unfortunately, for those like me, there is often no choice. Choice is the illusion of control over forces that control the thoughts. Synapses snap and fire in some sort of uncertainty principle. Waves of light ebb only to flow against the grain and drain into gray brain matter. What’s the matter with this thought experiment?
The experience of thoughts, in a train, rain into random orders, and often run faster than the breaks allow for. Time to take a break but the emergency brake is broken due to heat energy. Tunnels will be fine as long as openings persist. Is that the light of the opening at the end of this hall or just my engine light shining on the end time wall?
To stop is to crash and burn, to go on is to burn and crash. At last a ray of hope is that the tracks are definitely not indefinite. But then what…
Sorry, I was distracted by the news on TV, seems a derailed train caused a lot of damage in a small town. Seems like it could have been prevented by trained energized engineers. Or maybe it just ran out of real estate and faced its own fate. Maybe…
No more news for me as thoughts of mercy find no rail to hang its hat. It’s not that I don’t care, just can’t sit still long enough to stare into anything but this mind. This mind of mine that runs freely like a run away train next to me. Running towards me with its light on my side. Too much pride to move. This may not end well. This may be just fine. Stuck on the tracks of crossing. Lights flashing with gates about to descend. Hope the engineer is in control of his mind. I am stuck in mine.
Screaming in the next room. Authorities have been called. Ambulatory vehicles swiftly circle through traffic to ease the stress of a mind in torment. Professionals in chaos prevention. I am here. Next to the room. I am in the next room soon. Waiting for my turn to scream. The boisterous shouts were broken by a bottle of calm voices. Desperate help was needed to defeat the breaking up of thousands of thoughts into shrieks of tones. Phone lines were busy with interesting intervention ideas from invisible books. Walking was no longer the norm but a quick shuffle like papers falling by the breeze of a fan. It’s hot today and I am next. I wait. It appears that though I am on time, that the appointment will be late. The clock asks me to reschedule but…it was a lot to be here today, much less return. The noise seems to settle like my thoughts on leaving. The door opens but it’s another doctor to see me. I am calm. I know that noise next door but usually no one else hears it. The one next door is being prepped for the hospital. I want to speak to the wall to prepare for where I have been. I was in the office next door before. Now I am down the hall. I am leaving on my own power. I am walking out on my own. Sirens are screaming outside the office. My car has no lights on top. At least not today.
Sure, the sleep is better. But the dreams are made of mares of the night. Can’t afford any more meds as the lil daily cup is filled to the head. Sleep sweet but dream deep or toss and turn but no anxious burn.
The professional told me that it may go away in time. So I will wait for that date when the Trazodone will lay me down in beds of sugar and flour cakes. I have had my fill of horse meat from ponies that express themselves with horns and hyena type laughter.
This is the payoff, this is the cost. Yes, I will take to the zone tonight. I will look to rest with the best sleep possible. No, I don’t expect to fly in blue skies with wings made of flower petals but I hope not to swim in the deep blue with the fillies that hunt with daggers for human brains to feast on.
Finally a song is done. Obviously not happy with the outcome but it’s something to share. It’s sound waves under voice overs all about this bliss of mania and banter concerning depression. Truly can be confusing when losing the mind but remember when everything was fine. Had enough wits today to concentrate but only for a moment I presume. Had to publish or be consumed with the endless details. Write and arrange then rearrange a thousand times. No musician in their right mind will work with someone out of Sound Mind. My original editor and producer is much too busy with big tasks to take on charity work. Social security does not offer enough to pay professional support. So, I can only do what I can do in the mood that I am in. Would love to wait for more mania but when will that happen. Until then, please be a friend and lend an ear to the whims of Out of Sound Mind on SoundCloud.
Days of sleepless nights. Started many songs and finished only one. Psychiatrist is getting suspicious of my moods and asking about proper medication intake. Sure, I took my meds daily just as prescribed…I think. Maybe forgot for a day or two, but mostly I consumed meds for the sleepy head to form in the morn.
Nights of endless activities, such a wonderful time to be me. Thoughts about everything from death to society blend into one common thread of nothing in particular. Chase one thought only to be lost in another. What was I just thinking about? Not sure, but why bother as so many more interesting things are occurring.
Please talk faster. I know the end of your sentence before you do. So pardon the interruption but why waste time to finish what is soooo obvious. Let’s talk about three things at once.
Have you ever cooked ice cream in a microwave, that waves it’s door wide open like, a car? What do you mean by “what?” This is soooo simple to understand but never mind that but this is a grand idea. Let’s start a fire and cook old microwaves with ice cream inside to keep them cool. How cool would that be? How hot does the fire get? How long before the next microwave explodes due to faulty wiring. I wonder how many people die from microwave related incidents?
It’s morning already…time for my microwave dinner!
Depression teaches the student to slow down in life. The student attempts to rebel in order to excel but realizes swiftly that this is quick sand. Like the flu without the nausea, like the blues out of tune, like the Monday that never becomes Tuesday, like a run on without a period for relief.
This teacher of mine is very stern and demands constant attention to nothing. Changing the mind is like trying to remodel an old house without tools. Simply rearranging the same furniture that needs to be refurbished but just never got around to it.
As a student, it is the first day of school, again. I was here yesterday but nothing seems to change but the rate of thought waves. Nothing seems to change but the waves of moods that crash on the side of school buildings. A concern to learn if this brick and stone will survive this storm. Will this place last into the season of breezes and trees that seize the day? Will this ground ever play again to the sound of laughter and bells? The sliding board is very bored and slides into the quickening sand. Sad to see, such memories of the decline only to re-climb the ladder to slide again. Definitely understand that’s not a word but it’s what we did just before we slid. Now the slide slides into the grand sand as a lesson from depression.
Objects to teach each that it grips. Lessons to show each that it incarcerates. It’s the first day of learning again. I was here yesterday. The playground is different now. Looks empty and full of memories of what used to be. Memories that slide away gently into the sand. That’s the homework. That’s the assignment. To re-climb a ladder that no longer exists. To re-claim a mood that is hidden away.
Tomorrow is the first day of school. I was there yesterday and today. Recess is canceled due to rain and flooding. Tomorrow I just might play, anyway, in the sand. Just for a moment. It will be quick. It’s against the policy to play. It’s a lesson that I learned yesterday. Today won’t end anyway. Today I will just write in the sand.