I’m stuck in this place of me. This place between the person I am and the person I desire to be. This gaping bridge between my soul and reality has existed for years. Knowing this is part of the human experience, it varies from journey to journey. Knowing in the scheme of things my bridge is not as daunting or constricting as others, yet it is still my experience. Rough, raw, thrashing, narrow, gaping, isolating, frustrating, oscillating, inherently beautiful. A by product of soul, experience, consciousness, genetics, nurture, goals, ideals, and wishes. How much of my gap is reality. How much is ideal. What am I really capable of.
Is self deeply ingrained like twisted knotted roots of ancient trees: strong, determined, rough, lived, unwavering, solid.
Is self surface like weeds in a garden, twisting, covering, shallowly hiding truths amongst an invasive, aggressive desire to be seen.
It’s true. My personality is a collage of others. Is collecting people like a slow forming cancer. Over time parts of my soul being traded like sexual acts for small coins and horror stories.
Desiring nothing more than a meeting of souls. Love experiences. Shared moments. The rarity of the blockade of flesh, consciousness, perspective momentarily being removed in a concert of mindfulness. A small glimpse into the layer between humanity and the heavens. Come as you are, not as expected, desired, as wanted.
Is the fear of humiliation, shame, failure, loss, guilt, alienation, the basic drive of human consciousness. Are inferior feelings the real intimacies.
Is happiness intimate.
Are we motivated by other forces. Am I just neurotic, to concerned with the social ideal than my ideal. Still holding on the idea that I belong in the majority. Although the experience of time has brought me to a deeper acknowledgement of this gap.
There is something Inherently different about me. A struggle to effectively communicate. The bundle of words from my brain getting knotted, attacked, misinformed with in myself before spilling out in a putrid puddle of undecipherable nonsense. Constantly misunderstood. Changing vocabulary, method of delivery, thinking before speaking, methods and tactics recommended to me by peers, thinkers, teachers, mentors. Something I must do I must change. I’m wrong you’re right.
Trapped. Helpless. I must do the work to maintain your mold, to reach your level.
Paranoid. Don’t speak. Ah, but I must. Is this reality. Constantly checking. Asking. Is this psychosis. Am I just unintelligible.
How did I get here. When did this start. This isn’t a new feeling. This isn’t a new occurrence. This is the gap. This is the elephant in the room that can’t be acknowledged. There is no name for it, it’s not readily identifiable but it is there. It takes time to be seen, but it is there. This is my reality but what is it.
Something inherently different. No finger has been placed, no word identified. Maybe if I gather my ouija board and ask the underworld. Will it help if it has a name. Will I be able to face my truths or demons. Is it static.
What if it is just inherently me.