My clothes make me crazy

How many days have you had ina week where you try to get dressed and everything you put on is shit. It doesn’t fit, it doesn’t match – even the same outfit you put on a week ago no longer matches. Camo shorts, blue shirt and blue Chucks, how in gods holy name can that not match?! It looked fine last week, to be perfectly clear it actually looked good. The blue in the shoes went with the faded blue shirt, but now the shirt is too big? I aint lost no weight, maybe put on a pound. What the actual fuck? So, I got my “go to outfit” what I wear when nothing feels right or looks right. 501’s, old-school high-top Vans and a white T-shirt, that there was my dress code back home, it was everyone’s dress code from Venice, unless you opted for Dickies. I’ve been wearing that get up since 1985, my dad wore that uniform, how am I going to put that on and it’s not fitting or looking right either.

It’s like my life most mornings when I’m locked in depression, when I look around and think, this is 44? This is my life? I can’t stand that feeling. Staring into space wondering when the feeling of desolation is going to change. Searching for clothes that fit and wanting to burn it all down to the ground. Light my life on fire and walk away. I’m sick, mentally and emotionally disturbed and I relish in it. The ugly in me is contagious, I keep catching it. The ride of manic depression. Fearing the highs cuz you know that reality is going to set in, the low is going to come and you are going to look at what you did in the high and cringe. Cause you trusted a good feeling, you trusted some sort of happiness, a high.

As I write this I wonder if this is Mr. Ed and this fucker died a while back. I wonder if lol. Of course it is, this fucking horse died years ago, decades ago. This has been my reality since I was 11, since I was 10 and dreaming of death, ditching school and cutting myself. I just didn’t want to feel like every moment I was dying inside, like no matter what I did or who I was, I would forever feel less then, forever feel wrong and like every breath was killing me. I learned to manage it over the years with illegal drugs, sometimes prescribed, but nothing worked. The only thing that worked was intoxication to the point insanity, where I was so drunk or so high that my crazy was simple reality, there was no questioning it. It was just who I was and I was able to accept it, accept myself. Where the thoughts I had and the poems I wrote and the feelings I felt were real, they weren’t from a manic high or a twisted reality created by my depression… and if my outfits would just fit right, look good – if they would just lay on me like feathers on a bed of flowers all would be well.

I sat ina lecture once by Timber Hawkeye who wrote a couple books on Buddhism, he talked about the appetizers of Buddhism, the stuff you eat up happily and that taste so good, the food that wets your appetite for the real good. I had more knowledge of Buddhism then what he was speaking of so I wasn’t listening as clearly as I should have been (ego). Also at that time I was pretty lost in looking for salvation through spirituality and I was trying to let go all the tangible in my life, all that made my feelings change – we’ll save that for another day. So I went to get answers from him, Timber being the closest thing to a knowledgeable Buddhist I knew of. He was talking about only having blue jeans and gray shirts, it simplified his life and I’m sure removed mass amounts of ego. I mean think of it, to never have to figure out an outfit again, oh the simplicity! And the removing of the ego! My god, can I please be so humble, so selfless, can I please stop thinking about me. For just an extra 5 minutes in the day, I’m sure if I got 5 extra minutes of reprieve from myself I would be a much happier person.

Now here it is, here is the high! Like my insides are swelling, twisting and bringing excitement to my soul. The high comes and the sky gets brighter and the idea’s seem remarkable and as if no one has ever had thoughts so true or bold! Now I like this thought, this feeling, it excites me, getting rid of all my clothes, I could actually be less of me by doing this. Maybe I should. Maybe I should get rid of all my clothes that have “fashion” and go simple. Like I could really see this putting me in a different mind space, simplifying my life, making me less self-obsessed, less ego.

But now I stop. “Wait, that’s just crazy right?” “Like no one can really do that, right?” Something inside says that is who I am, who I need to be to further this spiritual journey, but its crazy, right? So I freeze, I make no moves. I don’t toss the clothes, I don’t wear the simple or the fashionable. I sit still and wonder if I’m crazy to want to do this, to even think this. The high will make me go throw my clothes away, no joke. Then I’ll come down, I’ll come down and look at what I’ve done and feel crazier then I do now. And maybe your reading this, sitting there thinking do what you want Jacob, quit being such a weirdo or what the hell are you thinking!? I sit here saying I’m not well and my thoughts are not normal, existence tells me this. TV and books and the news and the economy and opinions and fear and EVERYTHING THAT MEANS NOTHING!! Tells me I’m crazy and Timbers a liar cuz no one just owns blue jeans and gray T-shirts…

All this cuz I couldn’t find an outfit to wear, cuz I was being self-obsessed which made me self-conscious which lowered my self-esteem. That’s way to many self’s in one sentence.