Hiding (again)

25 Mar

Hiding, away from the world. It has become a habit, instinctual. The world is frightening. Life is frightening. Mental and emotional paralysis takes hold.

Hiding from everyone. Lose speech, voice and communication. Words and thoughts slowly crumble, falling into a void.

Some misalignment has occurred. Out of sync with the world, with life, with this body. Nothing quite fits. Everything feels somehow disjointed, at the wrong angles. Like the static on the radio when it isn’t tuned to the right frequency. I am not tuned to the right frequency.

Suffocating on secrets. Deep, sad, foggy, insensible secrets. No memory of who made them, or why. Barely recognise their shapes and hues; but feel their heavy oppressive hint boring inside.

How did this happen? When did this happen? It’s all mixed up. Not much of it makes sense. Not certain of what all of this is, or if it is even real.

Entering an elaborate maze, happy to be lost there. Living inside, in an imagined world, as an imagined self, who is normal and unhindered. Creating a different self, a better self. Contentedly living as this other self. This other self is the best, the only, possibility.

Solitude is a balm. It soothes. Feel it spreading over. It is a drug. Too much of it can turn sour, carving deeper and darker corners to hide. It makes it harder to climb out into the stark, uncompromising, numbing daylight. Frozen again.

Back at the beginning, a petrified being. Senses are shutting down, calcifying. Slowly imploding.

This cold, dark, empty well is familiar; a second home. Have been here before. Escaped from here before. Will escape again.

Time… and that other self appears again. Not as a possibility, but in a visible, tangible form, calling through the dense fog. Mind is regaining its muscle tone, starting to transmit again, its signals pulsing all the way through. So too is hope.

Hope was never really broken or lost, just hiding, sleeping, but now it is found again.

Coming back out again.

 

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