I Hide From People, I Hide From Myself

Where I go, when I do what I do, when I live how I live, where I go is here— inhabiting my body willingly. When I’m offering my effort to the world, I’m accepting the connection between my internal monologue and my physical flesh. I work with my hands. I’m here in my hands, my thoughts are travelling through my nerves and muscles and tendons, pivot, shift, pressure. I go into my hands and from there, into my work. Who’s here? I am, and others. 

I feel lonely. I don’t trust a feeling as an entire experience but I am lonely. I am loved and spent near every waking and sleeping moment at my beloved’s side but I cannot replace a world with one person, no matter if I feel like they’re equivalent. A feeling isn’t a truth. The truth of where I go, when I do what I do, is that I go into hiding. 

Pivot, shift, pressure. I put physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual distance between myself and others. Who’s here? I am, and I’m hiding from the others like I’ve hid from my body. 

“No, this isn’t me. I’m not here. This body isn’t mine, I have nothing.” Words from deep seclusion of mind in waking dreams, they were a consistency through a decade of dissociation. Now I’m awake. I’ve been awake for almost five years. I’m aware of myself and my flesh, I’ve begun embracing them. 

Where are the others? I’ve shunned their contact for so long. No physical contact, no eye contact, no depth to conversation, and I’m paying the price. I didn’t choose the beginning of my isolation but I haven’t chosen to end it.

I far from take my fiancé for granted, but our codependency tries to merge our senses of self. Too often I mistake us for one being. We’re not though. It is my flesh, my bone, my sinew which grasps that of their hand. Sometimes we work as one, but often we don’t and it’s better. We have disagreements, we compromise, we apologies for any wrong and show appreciation for every right. I’ve proven that I am my own person and can be dearly loved for honouring who I am. I’ve proven that I dearly love who a person is and everything they do, where they go, when they live how they live. 

Pivot, I used to hate change, now I appreciate my reactions of curiosity. What will be new? How will I grow with the fluctuating shape of reality? These days I’ve been working on many things. This time last year, I would never have imagined that now I’d be spending my time practicing sterile tissue culture to cultivate gourmet mushrooms and healing my relationship with my family through communication, empathy, and vulnerable honesty. 

Shift, some change is simple, just a nudge in another direction. Nothing drastic— minds adapt through a series of unconscious tests and analysis. I’ve been slow and steady with rewriting how I think. Nature takes its course in its own time. 

I go many places. I go within myself and I go into my research and writing and work, and I go everywhere with the love of my life, and I go here. I am here. When I do what I do, I am alive. When am I going to be peaceful? 

When am I going to live accepting a wide definition of peace? My offerings come small and large, but perhaps I will find peace in confidence. My worry makes my hands tremble. “Am I worth enough? Can I be enough? Can I keep my loved ones safe, healthy, and happy? Can I prove to myself and the world that I have any ounce of power?”

Being precious about asking questions gets me nowhere. I ask so many versions of the same one, “Can I? Am I?” No, I can’t. I’m not. No one can be all that I ask of myself. I’ll never be worth enough because my question revolves around a variable biased toward self sabotage. I can do everything in my power and there will always be a stronger force. That’s ok. Nothing is fixed by panic. 

I’m here. I’m going.

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