I'm neither here nor there now. My beings drift restlessly in both worlds. I can sense my mind in China, a pale memory there now, but lingering like the scent of lavender next to dried blooms. I'm breathing normally, my emotions mixing like oil and water; happiness sitting on the surface, but sadness is ever there. I feel like a foreigner in my own hometown, but I know being in China would only produce the same feeling...
I realize this transition is not new, nor do I feel a special brand of pain that no one else knows. I even know that the time it will take to adjust will be far less than I can now imagine, and should only wait until this passes...however I feel as if nothing soothes a heartache quite like relinquishing it into the inscrutable face of this internet void. Once expressed, I feel the touch of loneliness lighten, the fingers pull away from my face and rest quietly on my shoulder. Removed, but comfortably near.
Really that's the truth, isn't it? A resigned miserableness can have a certain appeal, there you are alone in your life experiencing it as a single soul in a dark hanging space. Somehow being so sad, so far from a friend's reach to pull you up into the sunshine and frivolity of their world makes you happy, or at least content. There is an attraction to slumber, the precursor to forever sleep. That dark purple stasis, where dreams and longings stretch forth straining to push through the veil and emerge into waking daylight. Where you can exist in comfortable paralysis, expecting nothing and ending it whenever you wish. I can see the pull of sleeping forever, the attraction of releasing responsibility and giving into gentle, unhurried rest. Although I can see it, I also recognize the parallels to it in other substances. It is just another drug of choice, another way to cope with or ignore life's complications. Sleep can be replaced with many other mind alternating things, and I cannot allow for that to creep into my life. The tendency of addiction is fairly strong in my nature, and circumvention seems the best method anyway. There again my pragmatic mind rears up and hisses; dependence upon sleep or otherwise is impractical and unacceptable. So I'll forge on, searching for something else to be safely addicted to instead.
I won't be at this level for ever, I know my experiences are not extreme, and I will not think these thoughts forever...however thinking them at all is unusual for me, and I am compelled to dispense them here, as one sheds cold water off one's skin.
Does every experience growing pains thus? I'm as a young plant eager to reach the sun's warmth, but caught under the foliage of my experiences, the shadows delaying growth. I look forward to the day when I burst forth into sunbeams, survey my new vantage point and finally understand what all that struggle was for.
Here I am exposing my naivety, putting my tender years under your scrutiny and finding myself surprisingly not frightened.
I'm not frightened...fragile, prideful, a bit defensive, and maybe a touch unsure of my choice of admitting all of the above...but not afraid.
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