Get Stair Well

Get Stair Well

I met him on the stairs. Although he was not currently present, he was anything but absent in my thoughts. I loathed my surroundings as much as I resented the path that led me here. As a result, my eyes were pressed shut, hard enough that I could feel the pressure of my lids, picturing that shabby stairwell. Aside from the slight strain on my cheek muscles, the only other thing I could sense physically in that moment was a sterile squeeze of layered gauze. It taunted me, similarly to the damn room I had put myself in. The wrappings seemed to nag, "Another sad public attempt at pulling yourself out of your pathetic self-induced misery, not only gone awry, but displaying and proving just that!"

"The stairs, the stairs, the stares..." My mind spoke, struggling to articulate contemplation over the personal teasing.

The way Simon looked at me, unrelenting eye contact that was incomparable to anything I had ever before perceived. His dark defined brows never once quivered, or showed signs of false uncertainty. One of my favorite attributes of Simon was his exceptional stare, and that tremendous fondness lingered, far after our ties were cut. Once, the squeeze of my swollen beating heart; Simon perched on those stairs giving me specifically that look, that initial look. Now, my left hand felt plump with blood and constricted almost, by the cursed gauze. The severance of what I thought to be flawless connection between Simon and myself was not the sole incentive in the severance of my carpus veins. There were other terribly ominous and impending forces in my life; merely none of them seemed mentally accessible at this time. Nothing else appeared relevant at all, despite the exceedingly extraneous nature of the relationship I persisted to pain over. Shouldn’t I have been born-again or something?

Where was Simon now? When I needed him. He would always without a doubt ensure me of this notion that in no way could anything possibly be wrong while he was there. Before my suicide... attempt, I knew always of his whereabouts; not with me, but somewhere. Now, Simon seemed so distant, not alongside me, floating in what had to be dead space.

The rapping of soft knuckles on the oak door shook me awake from my reflections. My heart jolted, though my eyes remained forced-closed I rubbed my fingers together nervously, for the first time I could recall on my left hand. Time went fast, then slow with anticipation of the sliding doorframe against the fleshy pink colored carpet. Alas, a dreadful nurse.

An awfully sugary sweet drawl made its way from the hovering hospital aide, "Josh, a young man named Simon, I believe it was, is on hold. Shall I tell him that you are resting or would you like to answer?" Out of the sake of embarrassment, I prayed that there was not a heart monitor present.

A forceful recollection then instantly enveloped me.

“Simon.” My mouth uttered quietly, and affectionately. He was a man of such variance, so multifaceted, yet there seemed but one manner to verbalize his name. All aspects of Simon inadvertently personified romance, whether he envisioned himself that way or not. My long fingers very gradually glided through his silky, dark chocolate hair. The fingers on my left hand remained occupied, weaving easily in and out of his, something he did quite habitually, and could last for hours. We laid together sprawled out on the ivory carpet along the front of the undersized couch, both in our nightdress, and a comfortable silence. Gentle music drifted idly from the other side of the room, I had a difficult time sustaining my focus on anything, as my glance would catch Simon’s hypnotic gaze. If he and I stared long enough, one of us would inevitably lean closer for an unpretentious kiss, our eye contact paused momentarily as they synchronically closed. Simon’s clement hands would then often find their way to my neck, and over time my nervousness seemed to be somehow increasing slightly, contrary to the suspected decrease. He never minded my blatant adoration, though his reciprocation was displayed by dissimilar means. Try as I did, I could never shake so much as one of the tender and intimate things that he shared with me on those cozy evenings under blankets, on the floor. Simon was a person vigilant with his words; he painstakingly verbalized his feelings only when thought to be crucial in some way. The first disclosure of endearment being his thoughts on the dim stairwell, he told me he knew; he felt what he did in that moment, then. The importance of our sincere and mutual affinity for one another was something I was conscious of within our shared moments. All the time I became more aware of the vital nature of our connection, all relations would pale in comparison, and I would become desolate, even reckless, if I ever were to lose such honest a love. Our eyes locked, and our lips met again. The impassioned pounding in my chest the sole indication I was alive; that this was real. I was enamored, and then…

"H-hello?" I strongly endeavored to keep my nerves under wraps, that notion only reminding me of my black lace sutures.

"Josh, it's me. Simon... I'm on a payphone on the stairs, beside the hospital. Would it maybe be all right with you if I came up there to see you? I would greatly…" I could indentify he was remarkably nervous himself, his words embodied a tone I had very seldom heard, and his pauses would often say more than the diction he struggled for. I could feel the sound sewing me back together.

"Of course." I spoke, through closed eyes, cracking lips, and a beaming smile.

Rename

            If I were to rename myself a nane that better defines myself as a person, it would be explained by a rather long list. If a person was named after what they were, rather than just who, it would be ever-changing. The list would be comprised of names of people who made them who they are, whether it be in the past or present. Additionally, the name would include the utmost words that describe the said person. Some names would remain the same, and the same order, for years. Others’ would change almost daily, the order shifting immensely.

The first word would define the person the greatest, whether it is another’s name, or an adjective as simple as hope. Each person would know his or her real name, and similar to a middle name now, it would rarely be used. Some prominent words in my name (aside from my loved one’s names) would be: observant, tired, adoring, kind, self conscious, negative, thoughtful, sentimental, sensitive, jovial, and waiting. I believe these names would be extremely revealing to others, therefore difficult to bear, but equally useful and helpful throughout a lifetime.

Reason For Living

            Developing and sustaining a meaningful relationship with another person is sometimes 


more than significant, but in fact the vital purpose of being. Reciprocated love, whether it is 


from a spouse, friend, or child, often keeps a person afloat and gives their entire life substance 


and value. Above all other profound impacting influences including community, or even 


religion, a personal connection with another can define a life and a reason for leaving. 

Hours Later

Psychology is the examining of metal functions and behaviors of a person(s). With billions and billions of synapses in the human brain odds are that some things happen inaccurately or circumstances can affect a person in a peculiar way. Psychologists have countless concepts to explain each reaction, situation, or trend. But not only are psychologists interested in abnormal mental processes, literature as well as the media also finds an interest as well.

Fight Club, a 1996 novel written by Chuck Palahniuk was turned into a major motion picture in 1999. The book, as well as the movie, is about a man who is frustrated with his white-collar job, the effects of advertising and the media, and the consumer culture among other things. The narrator’s traveling for business as well as constant misery due to his life and the world around him resulted in what he believed to be insomnia. As the plot thickens, the narrator meets and begins to live with a man named Tyler Durden (a man who is everything the narrator in secret desired to be), they begin an underground fighting club and give up their attachment to all things materialistic or egotistical.

The narrator’s apartment blowing up lead him to live with Tyler, and his invention of the fight clubs generated many followers, and though the narrator seems content at last (now sleeping at night and free from all material connections) he is still working towards becoming the ideal person Tyler aspired him to be. Tyler was already enlightened, was together with a woman Marla, and wholeheartedly lived by the ideals of fight club. In the end, the narrator eventually figures out that Tyler is a figment of his imagination; a part of his personality literally brought to life by his mind to bestow the strength in him to become the person he truly longed to be.

Many psychological concepts play a role in this story, first and foremost is the idea characterized as negative reinforcement. This concept is shown over and over again; the narrator had such a true hatred for his job, his life, and the people in them. All of the forces that weighed on him daily drove him to this extreme reaction to reinvent himself to create personal happiness. From detecting his own dependence on material things, “the things you own end up owning you”, to hating the fact that his boss was addicted to caffeine, made the narrator fabricate subconsciously such a motivating character (also known as multiple personality disorder). Without the excessive negative reinforcements he would have never been driven enough to reaction so extraordinarily.

None of the switching between characters, from the narrator to Tyler and vice versa, would have been able to occur if it wasn’t for the misinformation effect. The narrator did not recall for months on end anything whatsoever regarding being Tyler. The narrator believed that he was fighting Tyler in the clubs, not himself, and thought that it was Tyler who chemically burned his hand to enlighten him. He trusted this information so strongly that he completely blocked out of his own mind the destroying of his whole apartment, and recalled being him only. To live the life that he wanted; getting the girl he liked, quitting the job he loathed, blowing up the furniture he was reliant on, he had to have faith in this misinformation to be the truth.

The last most relevant mental concept that is significant to this narrative is observation learning. The narrator knew exactly what he detested, and knew also precisely what he wished to become. From watching television, reading magazines and observing those around him, he concluded what he thought had befallen the world. Tyler, his alter ego understood perfectly how people thought and worked, and how companies operated and controlled, which not only greatly benefitted the narrator but also was so relatable to the other fighters of the club. He was an average Joe with typical problems and judgments on what he observed day to day. The narrator did not have a father or someone to teach him what he knew about society and consumerism, “Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact, and we’re very, very, pissed off”, he observed it all himself.

The combination of the negative reinforcements in his life, with the misinformation effect allowing him to essentially be two different people, and his observational learning to perceive the world around him, made for mental calamity, or really in his case, somewhat of a miracle. How I think that this relates to society in general is although not many people create a superior self who functions as they sleep, many people are discouraged and frustrated with how their life has turned out at some point. I think a lot of people use observational learning to make apparent within them the importance of the forces around them, and additionally I know that some people are disgusted with consumerism. More than likely, a number of people must have reinvented their lives in some way to resolve their enslavement by the belongings that in actuality meant nothing to them.

This Was Written

A while ago:


"I think that it's very rare for someone to fully appreciate the event of having them make the right decision, and benefitting from that choice. We're all so caught up with bad things happening, unlucky events, negative choices/their negative repercussions. It's such a truly excellent feeling to know your own happiness is a result from nothing, but yourself. There are probably thousands and thousands of times a day where every person needs to make a choice. Sometimes they are forgotten moments later, and sometimes they still sting years and years later. Whether they are big or small choices posed, both can so easily bring joy (miniscule or large) to someone else's life or your own. Decisions are the most important thing in the world. And many say your death is not in your own hands. I believe every decision in life not only defines your life by determines your death. I also believe there is no such thing as an unimportant choice, because everything no matter how small, slightly (or largely) effects something later on. Or at least is adding to your character and simply who you are as a person."