Am I alone? Completely, and utterly? But the truth is, I need only to reach for my phone and dial any one number belonging to any one person who has laid their hands on my shoulder and said: you have me. So why is it so that I am still isolated in my 90cmX190cm bed? Do I not want to trouble any of the kind hearts, or do I not want them to see me as I am? Perhaps I even doubt their sincerity; who knows?
The stories that I feed myself in order to survive until the next day, how much do I believe in them now? Their effectiveness is, like any other drug taken regularly, becoming nil. There are no beasts to slay and no revenge to seek in this life, so why do I keep going back to those stories where solitude amplifies one's strength? Without any willpower in the first place, strength cannot exist.
Right now, I live and breathe as a lump of meat, a mass of cells, and nothing more. I shiver under the blanket even though it is hot both indoors and outdoors, refusing to sit, unwilling to open my eyes. If I keep drifting off to sleep and living those short glimpses of dreams, maybe I'll eventually have a life in one of them. Any life with feeling is better than this, right?
Wrong. My life is great. What constitute this greatness? What determines how good a life is? While it is true that there is no need for me to suffer and people who aren't in my situation would not hesitate to live in my position of material comfort, I can't seem to see beyond my internal deficiencies. That intangible pressure that squeezes my brain as well, I cannot bear it, and I cannot get rid of it. Because it is internal, it determines what I make of my environment, regardless of the actual state the environment exists in.
Thus, I will admit that my life is not worth throwing away because there is so much to appreciate. However, that is only when I am able to step out of myself and approach my situation from an external point of view. When in my own body again, isolated by the terrorizing dark clouds that threaten a thunderstorm in my already chaotic head, all I want to do is to fall asleep permanently, so I wouldn't have to live in a swirling tornado.
Excitement from waiting on my next packages keep me hopeful. Consumerism has its way of comforting the troubled modern soul, even though it is a practice one shouldn't trust too much as it might just swallow one whole and propel one into a more painful state of being. Whether it pacifies my panic or fuels my consciousness of isolation, I do not know-- at this point, I'm too afraid to find out.
I am a strong, independent woman. I need only to say that to myself, then perhaps, I will appreciate the sunshine and smile again as I walk against the breeze of insecurity.
"Come pain, come hurt, see the Halo."
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