I ran from Korea. I ran as fast as the flight home took. Once I hit the ground in Memphis, I went home to my parents, jumped in my car, and started running some more. I fled as far East from Korea as I could, driving straight back to my apartment. Pretty insane actually, considering I had just flown from Korea which including stops was around eighteen hours or so travel time, and then the drive to my apartment took about 6 hours. I didn’t care; I think at this point I did not care about anything.
It is 3 A.M., a normal occurrence for me these days, I am up and I have a glass of something dark next to me. I have had several. I have taken to brushing my teeth with a beer, it helps save the time I would need to walk to the fridge. I have grown to like the taste of toothpaste and the hops of beer together, match made in heaven. I am awake because I just broke up with a girlfriend, I don’t even remember her name or which one it was, and I am starring into the dark in my room with the lights off.
Suddenly, I take my arm and I shove everything off my desk onto the ground. The noise inevitably wakes up my friend Rob. I have begun showing these spurts of anger, these murmurs from my heart seem to radiate hate. And then it passes… and like a placid lake after a storm, nothing seems to have occurred.
“You ok dude?” Rob asks hesitantly, as he opens his door slightly.
“Yep, just reorganizing,” I say nonchalantly.
Rob knows, as my best friend and roommate, he can’t help but know that I have changed. And like the man that has worn many masks, I cannot tell I have changed because I have cut myself off from… myself. It really is an amazing talent, to be able to self-destruct and not be able to feel it or even to tell that it is happening. It is an extraordinary human talent that we have, our magic red button of self-destruction. When we feel depressed or dispassionate, I mean to the point where it is almost beyond suicidal, you are then in a very dangerous spot. Everything becomes surreal, add in the effects of alcohol and some (a ton) of marijuana, and you have the perfect slow cooking recipe for disaster. You definitely aren’t going to class, I can tell you that much.
Jason C. Cushman