The Then And Now of Despondency

A Little More Introductions, A Little Less Emo

Now

Sometimes I wonder if synergy played a part in my current life circumstances. I’ve pondered my theories off and on for six years. Would Ajax still be alive had we not met? What would’ve happened to her energy had I not accidently absorbed it? Would have it been better if everything she was died with her?

Why didn’t I just lay where I was and wallow in my pain? Why do I care about my friends so much that I’d crawl to them even as I was broken and bleeding? Why have I always valued a friend’s life over my own? Is putting someone before yourself selflessness or a prettier, well hidden form of suicide?

Maybe love really is the slowest form of suicide.

“Contemplating the matter of your being? And that’s too much sage.”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut-up, I know what I’m doing.”

I was currently fixing a dish between me and RD. Why? Because I found I could always meditate into my passion. I swear, I could go to a different planet in my mind and still be able to serve some bomb ass stuffed peppers or layer cake or meat kebobs. Or in this case, spaghetti.

I went to school for it and everything, I’m a certified chef in a few disciplines (my favorite is baking but keep that to yourself). It helps that my granddad and mom taught me everything I know. It didn’t hurt that I have an above-average intellect and drive (file that under: genius). Too bad I wasn’t a fan for cooking for complete strangers or I’d be working a line right now. However, wanting some type of income had me pursue another discipline.

“When did Jacob say he was going to pay you your fee?”

“Tomorrow. If he doesn’t, well, his precious baby will be held hostage for a week before it’s dissected for parts.”

“Oh so vicious, Joker. I’m impressed.”

I have strict rules with my solitary practice. I fix computers. I got interested in computers after my uncle dropped his tower on solid concrete. The insides of it immediately caught my attention. It looked like pieces of metal brains all over the sidewalk which played into my love of robotic cartoons.

Once you get a firm footing on how a computer works, it’s easy as fuck money. I’m self-taught. Personal fucking around (and fucking up), uncle (not the one that had butter fingers) being a mechanic, three friends going to school for computer technology very willing to allow borrowing books for food and a few “For Dummies” guides later.

Jacob is only getting a week because I fucked his sister without his knowledge a long while back (before he said she was off limits, so I still feel bad). Regular people get a three day extension before I scrap their computers for myself. Can’t have too many parts or programs. You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve found on people’s hard drives. I’ve called the police a few times to be honest (zoophilia I can forgive).

“Your meat is burning.”

See? Revisiting just a little bit of trauma of fixing people’s tech almost made me fuck up my favorite part of a spaghetti. “Find out anything?” I ask as I do damage control.

“Nothing particularly interesting for you… Remember anything?”

What an odd question. An odd question on a broken record named RD. It was good though, his constant wheedling, because my memory of my very short trip to the Ward was in tatters. But, I'll admit, telling my story does help. I kinda got a memory process like a drell (what up, Mass Effect fans?). Meaning once I'm prompted to think about something, it pops up vividly. Colors, sensations, setting, everything is clear. But it has a timer. Sometimes it goes by too quickly for me to express in words. Sometimes it goes so slow, I get lost, chasing that Rabbit.

Other times, like my current recanting, its a perfect pace. I try not to self-edit too much, but, you know. I still haven't fully come to terms with the trauma. How do I know this? I've become really self-aware over the passing years. I know my previously splintered mental and emotional state got completely ruptured due to the trauma and so, to save itself, my braid did a full restore action on itself. Thus why my memory is so patch worked.

Ask me about an event years back, I can tell you (even with that timer handicap) exactly what happened surrounding the event. My PERSONAL experience with that event? That my friends is when shit gets mad murky.