People of the Crack

Past the lines of civilization, to the murky waters of lost control...we find ourselves in situations where we do not understand our roles.
What are they? Where are they? Why are they? How are they? So important seemingly, to the status quo, they are little more than made up boundaries that keep us hostile, stranded without any kind of natural flow.
Loss of conscious obligations, rigid, moral, patrols, we look around and see the fabric of our lives take on the look of wasps nests, hives, and we, little more than moles.
Myself, I have watched this "shock factor" gaged the ether, and the fear, known without realizing, or even "knowing" just how threatening it can be to people who must maintain a certain façade to exist, even if it is this extreme.
Why is this? I wonder. I have never had the luxury of choice. I have "lived" in complete and total chaos, without a thought of the should of, could of, would of been's, although, I have been told often that these options surrounded me, while I lived in a bubble of non-conformity.
Perfectly oblivious, I only did the next best thing logically for me, never knowing about the options I have not been disappointed in the outcome, or annoyed by what I have heard other's call a certain intangible impasse or void. Overtones of Freud? I wonder. Could he be the one that has done so much damage, seeking always to analyze, label, and control this very human elemental?
Acceptance and surrender have long been my most sustainable keys. I have known no other way to live, or how else to be. I now see it in the eyes of the people around me.
Lovely, normal, people, pillars of the community. No, really. They are.
Their reasons for being, their constant obsessions; folded towels, just so, laundry on certain days, the grocery list, always stocking the same items in triplicate. Never, ever, without clean underwear, always saying and doing the "right" things, whether they felt like it or not. Cooking, cleaning, grooming, feeding, crying, pleading, going that so called "extra mile" in someone else's shoes, (how so?) All the while worried to absolute sickness that all of their many well laid plans will somehow fail.
Their house of cards will fall apart, an interloper will intrude, someone not a part of the original "pride" "brood" or plan, one who does not "know" instinctively or practice all of the "known" official "golden rules" of polite society, proper mannerisms, responsibilities, and techniques.
It is an amazing thing to wake up one day and realize beyond a shadow of a doubt that one is surrounded and drowning slowly, the breath being squeezed out and you never even knew it. You were just trying to live. When did it become a prison, a jail, a maximum security of living, dying, hell?
How did this happen? You solemnly ask yourself. I do not know. I must have been given a shot, or slipped a mickey in my coffee. I could have sworn that I was just looking in the mirror and there I was. Now I ask myself; Who is this stranger that is standing in the space that used to be my reflection? The eyes look kind of like mine used to look only they are no longer alive, animated, there is no sparkle, no life there at all.
What happened to that person with the banana boat shoes, that great big, bright, grin, that welcomed everybody in to share the dreams with? Where did they go? Does anyone know? Because, I want her back again. She has my life's blood.