Javier looked at me. I could tell he was formulating a sentence in his mind, choosing his words carefully, wondering if they should be said at all.
"What?" I asked, nervously biting my lip. "What do you want to say?"
"Okay," he sighed. "I don't know if this is my place, but... doesn't bipolar give you the courage and energy you need to pull this off, even if it is caused by a chemical imbalance? Isn't your ability to become limitless, actually your superpower?"
"I-"
"Look, I'm sorry if this sounds insensitive. I don't mean to be insensitive. I understand there are large downsides to this illness. It's just... your book sounds really important. It sounds like something the world should know about. Could you just get yourself high again, on purpose, to finish writing the book? You never found what you were looking for-"
"What?"
"In the story. You were searching for something in the dark ocean. You never found it. I want to know what you find. I want to know how the story ends. I want to read the whole thing, from start to finish. It sounds like you're so close!"
"I am, but-"
"And it's like you said — who would be crazy enough to try something this audacious? Maybe your 'illness' is exactly what you need to win this war. Maybe 'normal' people are too sane to attempt something this nuts. Come on, Nikki. Look around you. You run with wolves, not sheep. You should know by now that those who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do."
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "You're right," I said. "I know you're right. I know what I have to do. If something is important enough, I should do it. My ego's just going to throw a tantrum about it first, like it always does."
"So, how do you get high?" he asked.
"Oh God," I sighed. "I just paid my psychologist a bunch of money to teach me how to do the exact opposite of that. If I want to summon chaos, I need to break all of her rules."
"And what would that involve?"
I grinned. "It's like starting a fire. Firstly, I need to wait for the spark. If I focus long enough on something I'm curious about and explore it in a completely unregulated way, the spark will light. It's like directing sunshine through a magnifying glass — eventually, the focused energy will ignite the fodder lying on the ground. I'll feel myself ramping up."
"Then what?"
"Then I simply feed it more and more fuel. My psychologist taught me how to dampen the flames before they get out of control, so I just need to do the exact opposite of that. I give into it. I walk straight into the fire and pour more petrol on the flames as they burn hotter and higher and brighter."
"How do you fuel it?"
"I let passion consume me. I take the idea and explore it from every angle. I turn it over in my mind, and cross-check it with other patterns, and combine it with new concepts, and play with it like plasticine. I give zero fucks about the consequences of that reckless exploration, letting everything I 'should' be doing fall away. I forget discipline. I forget 'the practicalities of life.' None of it matters in the moment. Everything can fucking burn to the ground for all I care, because I am a sorceress in my own mind. If you interrupt my alchemy with boring, mundane, trivial shit — God help you.
And then, if I want to completely unleash chaos, I need to physically de-stabilize myself. I'll smash coffee all day, then stay up all night, focusing on the idea. Even in my dreams, I'll still be working on the problem. I'll wake up in the early hours of the morning after a few hours of sleep with a fresh insight — the result of last night's computation. I'll take long walks by myself, where I just think, and think, and think. I'll voraciously consume data — watching Youtube videos, reading books if they can hold my attention. I'll sit in a hot bath for hours, rearranging information in my mind like an artist sculpting clay.
This can go on for weeks until someone or something from the outside world throws a bucket of water in my face. Some boring, mundane crisis will pull me back to reality. That's when I look around and see the ashes from my fire. I realize that I've burned up my life. Everything is pitch black in comparison to the vivid color in my mind. Then a flood of depression pulls me down into the darkness, and that's where I remain until the next fire, or until I stabilize again.
So the formula for chaos is really very simple. Charles Bukowski articulated it perfectly: I find what I love, and I let it kill me. I let it drain me of my all. I let it cling onto my back and weigh me down into eventual nothingness."
Javier stared at me, mouth open.
I laughed. "Pretty dramatic, huh?"
He nodded.
"This is why I terrify myself sometimes. If I let the fire burn out of control, I'm left with all the consequences and none of the benefits. It's not like I get paid for my chaos. In the moment, it might feel like writing a book is the most important, urgent thing in the world. But when I come back down to Earth, I realize that nobody cares. No one gives a shit about the beautiful adventures happening in my mind when it's on fire."
"Yes, they do."
"There's just this voice in the back of my head, whispering, 'Nobody cares what you have to say, Nikki. Nobody cares.'"
"I care."
"Nobody wants to hear about your 'weird ideas,' Nikki. Sit down and shut up and be humble and stay in your lane. No one wants to hear it."
Javier looked me straight in the eye and spoke with an intense power that sent a jolt of energy running down my spine. "I don't give a fuck what anyone else wants. I want to hear what you have to say. You're brilliant. And everyone is always telling you you're brilliant, aren't they? Aren't they?"
"Yeah, but-"
"You spent the whole morning helping me think through some big life decisions for my son and I. I just love the way you see the world. Why do you find it so easy to believe in other people, but you have such a hard time believing in yourself? Why are you locking yourself inside a tiny little box? Why are you staying so small? Just back yourself, Nikki. Isn't that what you told me to do? What's that phrase you used? Oh yeah. Save yourself from the oblivion of non-realization."
In that moment, under the starry night sky, I saw myself exactly as I was: a magnificent hypocrite. He reflected my own shortcomings so clearly — as did so many other shiny objects that drifted in and out of my life.
"Thank you," I said softly.
"For what?"
"For pointing out my hypocrisy."
"Oh, I didn't mean-"
"Tranquilo," I cooed, placing my hand on his. "It's a good thing. It's empowering. At the end of the day, after all the noisy bullshit going on in my head, the choice is always simple: face my Fear, or fade away into Oblivion. And I've always feared Oblivion more than I fear Fear. Thanks for being a great mirror. I really appreciate it."
"Oh, okay..."
"I'm glad you showed up on my doorstep. This algorithm always delivers exactly what I need, exactly when I need it."
"You were an unexpected surprise, too."
"Well," I smiled, "you met me at a very strange time in my life."
Javier chuckled. "At least Mery warned you I'm a dog."
"She did," I grinned. "But if you're a dog, then I'm a bitch. I'm just using you for your body. I hope you don't mind."
"Feel free to use me for my body as much as you like."
As he ran his fingers through my hair, the distinct riff of a Macklemore song could be heard bouncing off the walls downstairs.
Got a Guns N' Roses T-shirt, and never listened to the band
Just being honest, I just thought that shit looked cool
Hold up, do you know who I am?
Turn the block to Woodstock
Retire? Don't think that I could stop
Jet-ski the way I ride the beat
And fuck your wave, I'ma die knowing that I did me
I got some words and I cannot let them die in me
This is arena status
Our bones end up in the ground, does it even matter?
Make some good music, get what you put in
Get out and go and leave the planet
Now what the hell did you think this is?
We're born, we're dying, in-between we live
Love, prosper, hands to the sky, catch a gospel
Roll the dice, nah, I ain't betting on tomorrow
Chain looking like Orion's Belt
Jacket looking something like a lion pelt
Had to take a break and find myself
They put me in a box by myself
The same writers criticizing my rhymes
Are the same writers that gentrifyin' Bed-Stuy
I can't even see the hate, I should probably check my eyes
I got 50,000 phones pointed at me in the sky
Between a rock and a hard place
Cold blunted with a stone face
Firebreather, firebreather
Born under a blood moon
But the sun is coming up soon
Firebreather, firebreather
Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire
Firebreather, firebreather
Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire
Firebreather, yeah, firebreather
Macklemore
