I fear that I have come face to face with the one thing that I was trying to run away from.
I have learned that all my weapons were clogged and that I barely had any, that the battle I was fighting in was against myself.
It was against my own act of longing.
I told myself that if I ran fast enough and far enough, if I made it a point to not think about it, it did not exist. Little did I know, it would always catch up. The humanness of my existence would always catch up.
Now here I sit in an ice-cold room, behind a laptop screen that pierces my eyes, a throbbing headache, and fingers that tremble and sweat from time to time. Here I sit and I try to come to terms with the fact that I could want something. That wanting is all I have ever done.
Not in broad daylight of course, never in broad daylight. Always in stolen moments in the middle of a psych class. On quiet days and chilly nights, sheepishly I have longed to live a life that is slightly brushed by some mirror image of love and happiness.
And yet, I passed up on my favorite slice of cake, on the blanket that I loved so dearly, the comfort of sleeping for an extra fifteen minutes, wearing a pair of warm socks.
I told myself that I had to let go, that if I did not, I would grow into the habit of it. I would grow into the habit of wanting, something that I could not afford to do. Wanting something meant I was inviting the possibility to ache for it.
Wanting something meant that I could lose it. So, as if giving into a sadistic whim, I chose the option that was far more painful; I took away the comfort of wanting anything in the first place.
It is as Richard Siken wrote,
"The enormity of my desire disgusts me"
I wonder where it went all wrong and I slipped up.
Or no, perhaps the truth is that I was trying to run from what life is; a thread between ache and desire. And you couldn't help but slip up sometimes, most of the time.
And I'm not sure what to do with myself anymore, I'm not sure if I can fiddle through my existence or continue to pretend like I'm not hurting.
Or maybe, just maybe, I should allow myself to hold what I feel.
I feel as though I am a container of pain, a container that does not break. Or a cage, a cage that I try to look beyond. Often I remind myself that I can still see the sun and everything is okay. Other times, I sit and stare at the steel bars, constantly reminding myself that I can't seem to leave.
Even as the key sits right beside me.
I am failing at words to explain myself and I'm lost.
I'm so terribly lost.
It is silent around me, but it is not. I can hear chaos, silent sobs and cries for help, steps being taken, and heavy breaths.
The only paradox is that the chaos maybe within me.
Within the four walls of me, and I've run out of ways to silence it.
Is this what it means to want and lose?