the days of my lives

TW; mental health; lobotomy; drugs;

"I am nothing. Nobody. Not important. One of billions. Not special in the least."

This is what I use to repeat to myself every day. Pathetic, I know.

You would, too, if you had been subjected to the lonely, guilt-riddled, tortured existence I had. Not that I'm blaming anyone. I can fully accept the consequences for my actions.

I have seen many places. I have passed through the hands of many men, and some women. Most of them discarded me as fast as they found me, something I'm not proud of, but wasn't any fault of mine. I have never had any friends, no one that cares about me.

Not until recently, at least.

Some say I must have the wisdom of a thousand sages; Some say I must be as dumb as it gets. Some find me ugly, while some see the beauty within.

Frederick found me on the beach one day, and asked me what I could tell him about life. I didn't say anything. I found it odd that he would ask me such a question. What could I possibly have to offer that someone he knew, say a grandfather or a mother, could not?

Frederick was 19 at the time, and rather wild looking.

Some would say he was lost in life. He was running from something, and you could tell. Living out of his Subaru Outback, getting the most he could out of his weekly showers, and frequently abusing drugs and alcohol, he was not the picture of "has it all figured out".

He dropped out of school last year, when the realization hit him-right in the middle of a physics lecture, that he did not want to waste four more years of his life getting told what to think. He certainly did not want to pay for it.

He told me all of this the first time we met, by the way. He told me of his past; flings he regretted, and the ones he wished he wouldn't have let slip away. He told me his favorite food, oysters on the half shell, specifically the ones served at Lenny's on the pier in Pensacola, Florida. Frederick likes rocks. That was his thing. He had always liked rocks, since he was a little boy. 

He claims they tell him stories, give him advice. He knows how to pick the ones that are special. He sees the difference between the living and the dead. He keeps the bulk of his collection at his parents house, they say he is welcome to come get them anytime. 

What they want to say is "Come get your shit, when are you going to grow up?"

He keeps his favorite rocks close by him in his car, and I have been added to that stash. Daily he takes me out and analyzes me, as if he is trying to figure out what it is about me that's different. 

I hope to God he does not see.

One day, Frederick runs across an old man with long dreads and a beard. He is meditating on the beach. As he is walking by, the man pops open one eye, revealing a deep greenish gold hue that he'd never seen before, and asks "What have you got there, Frederick?"

He is looking at the rock he holds tightly in his hand, unaware that he carries me everywhere now.

"Oh, this? It's my favorite rock. Some sort of pyrite, I think. I know, its not the most beautiful rock, but for some reason, I can't stop holding it. It's like it has a message for me. I know, I probably sound crazy." The old man had to laugh at that one, thinking 'If only this young man could see some of the things I've seen.'

The man stands up, his nine necklaces jangling, the beads in his hair slapping together rhythmically, the smell of Patchouli overwhelming, he comes closer. "May I see?"

With much hesitation, Frederick hands me over. The man was soft-spoken, but quick and firm. 

"I know this rock, Frederick. I have lived many lives, and this, this rock here, was in one of them. Trust me when I tell you, it is nothing but bad JUJU, you want to get rid of it now." He looked deeply into his eyes, making sure he understood.

Frederick didn't know what to say, but he had an intuitive feeling the man was right. He had an aura that was oddly trustworthy, as if he'd never told a lie in his life. He didn't try to save me, not that he could. I don't blame him. Thanking the man, for what, he was unsure, he began walking away. With one last look back at me, he was gone. It's probably better that way. He was too kind, too gentle, to see the horrors of my life before. The things I did. 

The man brought me to a boulder, placed me gently atop, and faster than time could record, brought down another boulder on top of me, crushing me into a hundred pieces.

Freedom.

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I wake up. I am on my back, wiggling my legs, frantically trying to get up, without success. It is not a bad dream, like I'd hoped in the last life.

Thank God I am not there anymore. I never thought I would get out. Some, once punished with the life of a rock, could stay that way for millions of years, until an Earthquake makes the Earth swallow them whole, or a mudslide crushes them into bits. I was thankful only to have suffered 200 years of it, though I know now, I deserve more.

After several minutes of trying, I gave up my desire to be upright, and rest. I take in my surroundings: Gray brick walls. Dark, long hallways. Blinking light fixtures overhead. Screaming, yelling everywhere. Crying, too. I hear footsteps approaching. A woman is talking to someone about a patient. 

"Two months and no improvement. You heard what the father said."

A man responded "You know as well as I do that that is illegal. You'll get us shut down if anyone ever finds out."

"Well then, I guess we better not let anyone find out. Now get her out." she hissed.

More screaming, as the man and another, coming from the shadows, opens a cell door and drags a woman out by the hair. "Come on, crazy. Today's your special day. We're gonna fix you right up." The young woman looks right at me, and for a split second I think she is going to call out to me. Then I realize that even in an insane asylum, the idea of someone talking to a cockroach is pretty unlikely.

On the way out, I manage to grab a piece of fabric that was ripped off the bottom of her dress, and, regaining my balance, I stretch my tiny legs and begin to crawl up the back of her dress, settling into a small pocket of fabric on top of her shoulder. I am very small, the size of a pinky nail, so nobody notices me, or if they do, they don't seem to care.

She is still screaming as they pull us into a small, brightly lit room, which is completely bare, except for a small table that looks similar to the kind in a doctors office. She is thrown up onto the chair, causing me to fly across the room, and quickly strapped down with thick leather belts around her wrists and ankles. One of the men grabbed a syringe and injected her with something that immediately paralyzed her. She glances at me before she passes out, and I feel her pain. I feel it so thoroughly it makes my body vibrate. I watch them as they stick a long needle into the corner of her eye, and hit it with a small hammer.

I freeze. My body goes numb.

He hit the wrong part of her brain; She is dead.

This is my first death, in this life. 

They don't even know she is dead yet, but I feel her spirit pass through me, and I know.

She shows me her life, it flashes before my eyes like it did hers just a second ago. She wanted to share something with me; someone she knew would understand what it's like to lose control.

To really lose control.

It took me back to my past. My very first life. The best one, and the worst. The one where I was human; the greatest vessel to live life through by far. I was an imperfect human, like they all are. But I took it to the extreme. I let hatred and fear lead the way, and indulged in every dark fantasy I had. I can hardly bear to think of it these days, but the memories are still faint in my bones.

I can still hear the people screaming. 

I can still see the carnage.

I had plenty of time to think in my past life. Not too much time to do, though.

I'm not sure what I can accomplish as an insect, but I'm ready to develop to the highest degree. If the goal is learn a lesson, I will learn it quickly. I sit in on several hundred lobotomies over the next few months, each time seeing the secrets that had led these women to insanity. Each betrayal. Each death. Each act of abuse. Each loss of innocence. I felt everything deeply, and let it rip me oven time and time again. I could put up no walls.

One day, right in the middle of one, a foot slams down on me, and I am gone with a squish, along with two squares of folded up toilet paper. 

I don't know how many lives I'll have to live before I get another chance at being human. I have faith that as long as I improve, the consecutive lives will grow shorter and shorter as I learn to navigate through, open my heart, and learn my lessons. If endless hell is my punishment, I will endure it through all the phases. Should I ever get another chance, I will bring nothing but joy and hope for everyone around me.

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I wake up, to bright, bright light. Slowly, pastel blues and greens begin to come into view.  I see clouds, and grass all around, I feel the wind move past me in a sleepy mid-afternoon daze.  

"MOOOOOOOOOO" 

There are cows all around me, but that great, big, beautiful sound there, that was all me.

I am an animal! 

Not a rock that can't move. 

Not a wriggling roach that can't flip over. 

I am eating real, fresh, delicious green grass, standing in the sun, surrounded by others that must be close to me on improving their souls. 

I look down and see a big patch of fluffy, crunchy clover. I notice that one is different; it has four leaves instead of three.

"Third times the charm." I think, and smile.

I remember reading something in my human life that, at the moment, I thought was silly. It said that some people consider the cow sacred- there were many reasons why, but one of them was that their "MOOOOOO" sound was the opposite of the popular Monk mantra for meditation, "OOOOOOMMM", both representing the Earth's natural vibration; The God vibration. "As above; so Below" and I think, if I am the same as all of that, then in the next life, surely I will be allowed to be the creator of my own life.

I will have the chance to right all my wrongs, and this gives me immense peace. It will be the greatest work of any of my lives, and I know I am in for a tough 100 years. For now, I decide to fully enjoy my life as a cow, as it will surely be the shortest, and relax while I can. 

"MOOOOOOOOO-"

"-OOOOOOOOM"

I pop one eye open, certain that I am dreaming. I didn't even feel that last one. I am in a Monastery, in meditation.

I am in the womb, and my mother's voice and vibrations calm me.

She grabs her stomach as contractions suddenly grab hold of her; she is in labor.

Round two, here I come.