A Surreal Experience

It is a surreal experience, almost unreal really. I try to emotionally detach myself from the events that have transpired – harder than I thought it would be. The people watching doesn’t help either. I see them in these people. Double takes ensue followed with a sigh of relief.   I want to laugh, cry and anything in between, maybe even bleed. This past has left me at the crossroads of my future. I can follow the worn edge of insanity. Along this edge, I could pretend I love you along the same lines that I love the town I’m in. Some swear this place is a city, a mistake really. No unity or culture can make this place a city. These people are full of delusion. Unlike them, my medicine is wearing off. Besides, I don’t drink the water. Staying on this path would mean lying. Lying to you, my family, the world and myself. It would mean jobs that I find boring and unsatisfying. So much that I will either work two or change jobs every six months. Really, my resumé is already fifty pages long and by staying here I will soon be able to mistake it for a small novel.

Self-doubt has already started to settle in- making a home out of my indecision at the crossroads.   I try to detach the emotions I want to separate. Sadness, resentment, fear, anger, and doubt you go here. Happiness, love, confidence, and power you go here. This isn’t working though. They cling to me like children afraid to be abandoned and orphaned- fearing loss in their own way.  Oh signs, I must see the signs. They will direct me. Yet, everything has intensified in this tug of war.

 Learn is whispered in my ear.

 Learn what! I scream internally.

I want an answer! Which way do I go?

Left, right, left, right, which way?  Repeats over my ears like a mantra. Close to the beat of an army march.

Left, right, left, right which way?  

You know the way!

 I am arguing so much internally that if others heard my thoughts I would be committed. The diagnosis would be on the verge of schizophrenia or multiple personality disorder. The latter I feel is all to close to home.   My ram shack of a home is nothing like I visualized it. Yes, it is warm in the sense that the heater works.


Everything is so internal. Internally my home feels like living in Alaska with no heater, no blanket, and no comfort. Holes let the wind peak through the walls. The fire is lit long enough to remind me what happiness feels like.

That the warmth of love is possible. Then your words summon a shower of rain. My tears leave soaked ash in place of my fire. That beautiful fire I love, I am is currently reduced to embers that won’t go out. I fear it will give up soon and this well-worn edge is familiar. The sharpness of excitement has turned dull.   Is it possible that your fear is holding me back? The person I am with you is a robot.  Programmed to fear your reactions and to cater to your needs. I tell you yes babe when I swear I should just call you master. I have lost myself so much that I sometimes think it’s you I hear in my head probing at my choices like a prison warden, watching my every move. Just watching, waiting for a reason to withdraw your love like I should feel privileged to have this honor. The privilege to sleep in the same bed, to have your last name, to look at you everyday.


You don’t speak to me lest it be in criticizing tones.  


You don’t touch me. With your back turned as if any sort of contact would turn you to stone. I am not Medusa. Besides your heart turned to stone long ago.

Looking at this past I have -Why oh why is it so hard for me to choose?!

Left, right, left, right -which way ?!

The left is illuminated by experience. Years of it-full of denial and hope. Hope and denial are starting to flicker. The buzzing sound of those light bulbs dying. The louder the sound gets the less I can ignore it. Suddenly both bulbs burst into flames and the sprinkler system is waking my true self out of a long slumber. The smoke clearing and pushing me out of the path.  The only rescue I have is to go to the right – where I truly belong. The masks, lies, and secrets burning in the past. Cleansed of my regrets, of my questions, I am revived and happy.

I am that I am.

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