I feel like I am wading through a thick grey fog wall, trying to find my way back home, wherever that may be. Through fog and mist I stumble, trying to stay on the sidewalk and not tumble over the rails into oncoming traffic, or trip over tree root cracks in my way. I hold onto the brick walls of other people’s buildings for support, the same ones he and I used to kiss in front of, on a night not unlike this one. And then suddenly, I remember where I am and where I’m going–back to Seattle.
More and more, I feel like I’m really drowning, real drowning, not fake movie drowning. I’m not screaming or flailing my arms; instead, I’m sinking below the water line, and all I can concentrate on is breathing. I don’t call for help, I’m not sending out an S.O.S., I’m just trying to save myself from a cold, dark spiral. I’m trying to tread water, but the sea envelopes me, and it’s almost soothing to just give up and go to sleep.
Sometimes I feel brainwashed, but I’m not sure who did the brainwashing–him, or me, or a bigger picture. Sometimes I am an automaton, smiling and standing up straight because it’s what you do. I want, I need, I want, I need–these things become replaced by I can’ts. Sometimes, though, I am myself, and I do strange things like dance alone or watch bad t.v. or act like a Santa Cruz hippie, and I am unconcerned with what you think.
I am trying harder. At all things. To go home. To stay alive. To be myself, and not hide my tattoos. To be myself and smoke my Parliament Lights and drink my Newcastles. To be myself and kiss him hard against the wall. To be myself and not justify my actions and decisions. Mostly I’m just trying to breathe.
One day, I will tie up my belongings in my kerchief and stick out my thumb, and float through the fog and waves until I reach my golden castle, where I can just be, all by myself.
