polka dots....

Thinking a lot about Crazy lately. We all have some form of it. Some manifestation of our own crazy.
Drinks going in and getting farther and farther away from myself. Acting emotional but also feeling more and more removed from life. I can look down on it and criticize it objectively. Speak thoughts that normally would go from the front of my brain to the back of my brain and never be communicated.
Every morning after feels like recounting someone elses memories. It feels so foreign and unfair. To take responsibility for all the bad behavior when possessed. I hate to lose control. I hate that darkness inside me, with its singular point of view because it's never as bad as it seemed when you were drunk or high or overcome by your own chemicals. My chemicals cross the line sometimes. They hate lines. They like to scortch the earth. They like to wipe out the whole village. They like to burn down every wall and leave me, the true me, sitting in the ashes. It's as involuntary as a fart sometimes. That's how crazy feels sometimes. Like jumping off. Like surrender. like upset for the sake of entertainment in what would be an otherwise dull moment.
Maybe crazy is just the thing fighting comfort. Fighting death. Fighting ordinary and mundane. That's why Mr. Hyde always has more fun. Mr. Hyde is happy because he is unbound. He is free and uncensored and unconcerned with anything surrounding him. No future. No past. No consequenses. Just BLA GRRRR ROOOAAAR!
But he dies young. He never gets anywhere. He can't be maintained. There is no eco system for him. He is one dimensional.
I'm so glad my monster is only a small monster. An ankle biting little fucker. Not the beast some people have to wrestle with everyday. Nope. I am still I charge here. The cats only away every now and then.