Sometimes I close my eyes and I go back. I’m five years old again and everything is perfect and right with the world. I’m young and free and I don’t have a care in the world. No worries. I’m innocent again. Untouched. Pure. My memories of lying in the grass aren’t yet associated with a night of horror. My free will is still my own. My heart is still whole. It hasn’t yet learned how to fracture itself into a million little pieces. I still believe in fairy tales and whatever fantasy my imagination can dream up. I’m not yet jaded, or cynical, or hardened by in the injustices committed by the people in this world. I still believe that people are good. I don’t believe in evil. I’m not even sure yet if it exists.
And then I open my eyes and I’m faced with the reality. And it’s such a disappointment. Such a let down. You know, I used to think growing up would be this amazing, grand, incredible adventure. I honestly couldn’t wait. And now, I’d give almost anything to go back. Just for a day. An hour. A moment. Just a fraction of a second to feel at peace again. To feel whole. To not feel this damn broken all the time. I keep waiting for this feeling to go away. But it never does. It’s always there. This sinking “entity” that turns everything to black, that swallows up all the good before I can even get a taste. It’s taken everything from me. I can’t see it, I can’t touch it. But I loathe it. With every fiber of my being, I do.
Part of me feels like maybe I’m running away from myself by moving to Tennessee. And honestly…maybe that’s part of it. I guess. Honestly. I don’t know. And then I start to think–is that so bad? Really, is it? Is it so wrong to want to start over? To just wipe the slate clean and say I’m done–that I’m ready to close the book on a life that’s been so wrecked beyond repair–and just start over with a new book, clean white pages, the binding so new it crinkles when you open it? Tell me, is that really so horrible? Sometimes I think it’s selfish and then sometimes…sometimes I think it’s my last resort–my only choice…so it can’t be selfish. Self-preservation. It’s survival. It’s basic. It’s ingrained. That’s not selfish, it can’t be. I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. What to feel. I wish there were rules for this. A book to follow. Steps…a guide…something that would tell me I’m at least on the right path, going in the right direction and not just going in circles. I need a sign of some kind–I just need something. Anything. Because right now, I feel like I have nothing. Which is absolutely crazy because in reality, I have everything. But then again, if that were true, I wouldn’t be leaving…I wouldn’t be searching for whatever it is that I’m missing, would I?
Oh, yes, this was so, so much simpler when I was five. Everything was easier then. Why’d I have to grow up? Why?