There are times when I can be in a room full of people, and
the only thing I want to do is keep to myself- stay quiet, lie low, and melt
into the floorboards and escape between their cracks into soft soil.
Alone is not a physical thing for me- I can be content with
just my thoughts and personal space. Solitude is what is truly unpleasant; when
I’m no longer able to express myself to anyone.
There are people in my life that mean a great deal to me and
I would give up anything for them, but none of them can truly understand the
intentions of my thoughts and my reasoning. The ideas which make sense in my
head seem to explode into confusion when I try to talk them out. What I imagine
to be a coherent thought simply shifts into gibberish. Sometimes it’s like I’m
speaking in a completely different language. Yet, that’s usually how it goes
with thoughts.
How can you relate to someone if you’re too afraid to tell
them what you really mean? How can you connect when what you’re holding back is
the poison to your relationship?
The remedy which I seek for solitude does not exist. Like
the fountain of youth, it is only passed on as a rumor by morning talk show
hosts, lifestyle magazines, and hopeful dopes.
It’s impossible to question life- I am not an expert. No one
is. It’s a thing much older than I am and has been around longer than anyone
can count (yes, even scientists can’t determine its creation). It seems strange
to me that we are given the gift and the curse of other people’s presence. But
then again, this strangeness is nothing new. After all, the demons we believe come
with isolation are only the pets of our imagination.
We come into this machine of life alone, and the same way we
shall exit.
