Money

You truly are the root of all evil. We bend over backwards for you, sacrificing our very souls to get ahead in this monetized society that we’ve constructed for ourselves. I can feel you, tickling my brain, making me think the only way I will have any value as a person is to have lots of you. You burn in my veins – I can feel the fire run through me as I drag myself from job to job, bank to bills, store to home. Earn, buy, pay; repeat.

I’m exhausted. I’m a living exposed nerve. I’m a mind drenched in chemicals, drifting from distraction to distraction.  I use anything and everything I can get my hands on to forget about having to go back to hell to earn more money: drugs, alcohol, video games, sex.  Don’t make me go back but give my my big check. Give me more money.

I’ve forgotten that we are human and our value is not based on pieces of paper or clinking coins. A house does not equal a valid person. A fancy car, the latest clothes, a cool haircut. These things are pure nonesense. They don’t matter at all.  I’ve forgotten, though, so I scream at people to get things done now. Make more money, now!  I don’t care if you missed your own birthday party to work overtime. I don’t care if a loved one just died. I don’t care if you are dying. Make. Money. Now. More.

Always more.

One house? I need two, now. I need to upgrade my car. I need to upgrade my look. I need to upgrade my ego.

My self-esteem shrivels. My soul is hanging on, trying to break through all the madness.

Crack. A little break. A little too much stress, a little too much forgetfulness. I’m beginning to remember.

I look around in a haze. I begin to question things.. why do I need a fancy car? Why do I need a big house? Why do I need that promotion?

Money.

Wait, this isn’t right. Crack.

Something is wrong.

Work, earn, buy, pay.  Work, buy, pay. Work, pay. Work. Work. Work.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

I can’t get out of my king sized bed. I can’t bring myself to put on my designer jeans. I can’t look in the mirror. What is going on?

I go outside and just stand there, slowly blinking. Slowly moving my head side to side, taking it all in.

The sun, grass, earth – it’s all still here. It was always here and it always will. Even when I’m gone. Even when money means nothing.

Money means nothing.

Crack.

The sun starts to shine back into my soul. The tears stream down my face. What have I become?

I move out of my big house. I sell my fancy car. I quit my job.

What now? What do I do with myself now? What really matters?  I get back in touch with family and old friends. I visit them, stop and take time to talk with them, I help them out. I’m starting to become human, again.  I can feel it. My body doesn’t ache with the fire of stress and money, anymore. I’m more relaxed and I haven’t smiled and laughed this much in ages.

I sold everything I could live without and moved into a smaller house. It’s practical. I bought a small car that works well and gets me from point a to point b. It’s practical. I stop buying designer anything. I start buying groceries to eat, not to feed emotional eating. It’s practical.

My soul starts to blossom. I start to write and paint, again. I haven’t painted in decades.

I help out at the local shelters and start selling my art at the local farmer’s market. I get a job that I like, but it doesn’t pay that great. And that’s okay. It pays my bills, it’s lower stress, it’s better hours. It’s practical.

My soul is back. I am human, again. I am apart of the real world, again.  I am me.. again. Finally.

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