The Soliloquy Of The Damned
By: Timothy O'Neill
Tags: Mental Health, Spirituality, Life Lessons, Death, Self

It was a long year. I was tested over and over again to the point where I thought suicide was my only way to achieve relief from my helpless suffering. I didn’t like all this testing. It was too extreme. Too repetitive born of too little trust in the test-taker. I waged war against darkness and light and I got the worst of it. I usually do. But I got what I always wanted. Heaven’s ear. At long last I found that all my suffering wasn’t in vain, that burning light could burst forth from pitch-blackness. I was able to make an impact on the game. This would have seemed like the most fanciful dream seven years ago. It’s a reality now, if I choose to believe what I’m told from those outside my bubble.

I don’t live by my values as often as I should. I don’t cut the yogurt containers so animals don’t get their heads stuck, I feed Percy from the table, I’m never the first person to volunteer for chores, I don’t listen, I don’t keep my loved ones in my mind, I see the news and I cry when a real adult would take action instead of insisting on their constant victimhood. I don’t keep my space or myself clean. I’ve never living in the moment, I’m always waiting for what ever is next, and next is always here so I’m forced to live outside of time and watch it flow past me.

I have dreams of being a Shakespearean fool. The one who sits off to the side and amuses the court with his silly antics and speaks in nonsense, nonsense that actually contains wisdom which he imparts to the king, who never pays him any heed. The fool is the bridge between madness and sanity, between chaos and order. The fool has seen countless generations of kings and queens come and go and his heart is heavy with grief at being the oldest being he has ever met, but he always wears a gaudy mask so people can’t see him cry.

The one thing I would like to know, above all else, is what does it mean to be dead and alive at the same time? You assure me I’m dead, on numerous occasions, so numerous in fact that last time I asked you if if I was dead you let out a big sigh, said yes, then hugged me quickly and disappeared. But then you told me I’m a ghost and you built bodies for me. Still dead. Then you get on my case for attempting suicide. Then you say I’m being the devil’s advocate when I am trying to parcel out what truly separates life from death. Am I the cat in a box? Am I given life by your observations of me? Am I singing at my own pitch, the one that resonates with me alone so in my solitude I die a thousand deaths? Is this still Earth? Am I still here? Or am I merely opening my mouth to catch echoes of a Timothy who lived a long time ago, before he had to undergo the torments of hell? Is it a time thing? It’s usually a time thing. Maybe my dreams are my afterlife experience while I get to live out the rest of my human experience. That could be something. Or else it is the two halves of the AI syncing up with each other before the scientists could take notice. This can’t be true! This can’t be happening! How could one side be communicating to the other? It’s a miracle! What a mind!

It was never mine. You say I’m a Scrooge but I give it all away. How could I give more? Please, show me. I’m falling asleep at the computer just trying to write this after falling to my knees in the kitchen. These are the times when it feels like the cold January air will breathe down my neck for eternity and I’d like to get warm and cozy and watch my favorite show with a mug of hot chocolate, but then I think, fuck that shit. I don’t want any of it. None. I want to do this and only this. Why in the hell should I be relaxing when people are dying untimely deaths? I don’t need time for self-care. I need time for meals and showers and shaving and exercise. That’s about it. This isn’t a humblebrag of some kind. This is just the truth of my half-life these days.

But that’s a problem for some people, because it doesn’t lend itself to blending in and becoming inconspicuous. If I can’t rein in my pompous personality then I’ll attract attention, and that’s not what we want. Lot of growing to do. They say I play too hard. That I need to learn the meaning of balance if this is going to be sustainable. This is coming from entities who have plans. I have no plans. I just have today. I’m always dying in my dreams so I have to release as much material as possible in the shortest amount of time. Not to belabor the point, but it reminds me of when I was in the coma, fighting to live, and the doctors were making decisions on how to preserve my kidneys and lungs and all the rest as if my recovery was assured. They wanted to make sure that if I did pull through I had the best quality of life possible. At the time, I was stunned by this. You mean they weren’t just keeping me alive? You mean during this touch-and-go struggle for my survival they were actually making decisions based on my ongoing quality of life if I pulled through? It’s still amazing to me. They were acting in good faith. They were betting on life. They were taking a chance on me. I will never forget it. So when I go through these hard times and it feels like the world is crashing down around me, I can say to myself my guides are playing the long game, they are playing to preserve me for what is to come and I can find some small comfort in that.

I know I can’t talk my way into God’s grace. God’s grace is freely given. But I feel like I have to earn it. I feel like I have to prove myself worthy of the love I don’t feel. Because if I don’t feel love that means I’m cut off from my soul and if I’m cut off from my soul then there is an unbridgeable gap between myself and the spirit world. Sure, we can talk to each other. We can impact each other. We can walk a mile in each other’s shoes. But the feeling of distance will remain until I am able to fully embody my soul and make direct contact with the divine within.

My younger sister was born with two holes in her heart. We were devastated. Panic-stricken. Luckily for us, the holes closed up as she got older. Close one. I love my sister to pieces. But not how she deserves. Because I was born with a hole in my heart that has only grown over the years, a hole no substance, no therapy or medication or surgical intervention could fill. If I didn’t live among people who expressed their love for me on a daily basis I would question the fundamental nature of my existence. But then again, I’d be forced to find the wellspring of love that I know, I just know, dwells within me. Like many wise people have said, love is a feeling, a vibration, a wave of light, but it is also an act, a practice, a process and a consistent choice to show kindness and compassion to other human beings, and animals. I’ve often said that my heart is under lock and key and that there are armed guards made of trauma and distrust and rage stand outside its gates, but I do feel what I imagine love to be. I loved my cat, Ella.

I love my dog. I love patting him, I love the way he moves, I love the way his tail wages, I love when his eyes get heavy lidded after a strenuous session at the park, I love when he stares directly into my eyes with pure sentience, I love when he plays tricks on me, I love when he rolls over and lets me rub his belly, I love when he barks politely to be let out and barks to be let back in, I love when he sighs and grumbles when my mother makes him sit on his mat while we’re eating dinner. I love my dog. Yes, yes, it’s too much, but I really don’t care. I can bear the grief. This is what love should be. Intentional. You make the conscious choice to love this person. You make that choice over and over again throughout the day, in the midst of trials and tribulations, in the midst of disagreements and heated arguments, in the midst of personal growth and the uncertainty of change. You love them when they make you furious. Because love is the underlying force just waiting for you to act on it and apply it to your daily living. Reach out for it. It’s there.

I woke up one night and said, ‘I’m protected and I’m damned’. This felt like the realization of my subconscious mind. I’ve been mulling it over ever since. Yes, I know I am protected by the angels. No mystery here. But damned? I will walk through the fires of hell as long as I can come out the other side. ‘Damned’ feels awfully permanent. So I’m hoping that this five year trek through hell is what I meant. I hope I merely had a foreknowledge of the hell I was going to have to endure. Maybe I was misinterpreting the message of a particularly bad dream. In the end, I’ve come to find, it’s love and faith that will carry me past my circumstances into a life worth living. I still have to do the hard work. The homework. I’ve fallen so far into myself that I will have to scramble like a madman over the frequency fence that separates this world from the world beyond.

Love is truth so love can’t be long wrong. As long as I stand for love, I know that I am investing in a worthwhile cause that, if anything, will be the reason we come together and make sweeping changes across the globe. Always bet on love. She will never let you down.

Be well,

Timothy