1:19 PM - Saturday, Mar. 04, 2006
It's more than a notion.
"If nobody were around to witness my existence, would I really exist?"
Do any of us know what we're really doing with our lives? Is there anybody out there who woke up one day and decided to become something and that's what they became? And they were happy with that? Or is it normal to find something to fill up the moment while you sit around and hope that there's more to life than all of this?
I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know who I want to be. Where will I be in five years? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? Will I still feel stuck in place? Will I ever stop feeling trapped?
I evaluate my life. A lot. I have nothing to regret. I have nothing to complain about. I own a beautiful home. I'm financially secure. I'm stimulating my mind through advanced education. I'm mother to two adorable cats that love me unconditionally. I have a wonderful family. And although I'm not in the ideal work situation, I have job security. And yet... I can't help but feel it's not enough.
There's this restless feeling deep inside of me that comes and goes. Much like my panic attacks, I can feel it building up inside me. It starts in my gut and works its way up until my heart is pounding and my mind is racing a million miles a minute. But instead of feeling uneasy and scared like I do when a panic attack hits me, I feel this urge to run. Like I can't sit still. Like I want to pull my hair out from the nervous tension that just won't go away!
It won't stop, even after I climb into my car and drive until I can't drive anymore, and even when I buy a plane ticket to some far off destination and find myself in some other state. And no matter how many times I steal away from my life, I know I have to come back to it. I know I can't escape this life or who I have become because no matter where I go, there I am.
It makes me want to scream. No. I want to scream, but I swallow it back until the words are bouncing back and forth in the pit of my stomach. When I was younger, I used to dream about running into an open field out in the middle of nowhere. There wouldn't be a single human being around. Just me, the animals, and the wind whipping through the prairie grass. And I'd imagine myself tilting my head back and screaming as loud as I possibly could. And it was okay, because nobody could hear me screaming. I could shout as loud as I wanted too and it wouldn't matter.
When I was in high school, I used to think it would feel wonderful to lie down on a slab of hot cement completely naked. I could actually imagine the feel of the sun's rays against my skin... as if the sun could warm the cold that rested somewhere deep inside of me. But even fully clothed, I could never find cement hot enough to burn my skin.
What did I want back then? Where did I see myself in ten years when I was 18 years old? Did I imagine this?
I can't help but wonder why I am who I am. And I wonder if others out there like me think the way I do. I'm not talking about the people who are going through some of the same life experiences as I have, the ones who can't help but fight the internal and external symptoms that come afterwards. I'm talking about those who have gotten far enough past the built up emotions to live a fairly normal life. Do they sit around and think back to that time? Not to relive the experience, but to see how far they have come? To remember who they once were? To understand why sometimes you can't help but slip back into that frame of mind?
I want to find those people. I want to share my thoughts with them. And even though I know I'm not alone, I want to feel as if I belong. Sometimes, I just want to be surrounded by people who understand. Is that so odd?
