the other side of the glass // i didn't know how to describe the past few days so here's some poetical nonsense7:00 AM
it's not sadness. it's not depression. (i don't think.) it's not a terrible horrible awful loneliness -- most of the time -- creeping into my head and running down my spine and soaking all my skin in cold water.
it's just...the feeling of being outside.
of the world.
of the party,
of the group,
of the joke,
of the moment.
of myself, sometimes. like those moments in dreams where you're looking at yourself and making yourself move all at the same time. just like the dreams, too, it's not usually scary. it's just that feeling of being outside, and the strange, calm sense of watching. my own thoughts keep spinning and my body's a hundred miles away on the other side of the glass.
maybe i'm in it all day. maybe the moments creep up on me. but i blink, and there i am, that curious strangeness floating in my head. i watch --
my hands on the steering-wheel
my voice agreeing (don't i sound strange, like a little girl all over again, like i haven't changed a bit)
my feet walking into work
my own face in the mirror, and me looking at me looking at the mirror, and it's "inception" without dicaprio because that would make it make slightly more sense.
i don't mind. i don't hate it. i just watch, and think.
and think and think and think and think and think and think and think and think and think and think and
(there are too many thoughts to think, and most of the time they go round and round and round.)
sometimes i'm just staring at the wall. bastille lyrics soaking into my head. and i feel cold, and i feel numb, watching myself watch the wall while all the while my thoughts keep spinning and my head spins with it to try to keep up. i think about books. and people. and God and life and death. and i think, and think, and think. (i don't mind, i don't mind, i don't mind. i'm not afraid.)
and i think that even when i touch things and they feel like things, it's hard to feel like part of the joke. it's hard to reach out and touch people in the same concrete way that i can touch a book or my fork or this keyboard. i like people, and i like talking and laughing, and all that extrovert energy withers away inside of me if i'm alone for too long, but i don't like being part of people. and i don't know how to be a "group".
i think i like watching people more than anything. laughing and throwing thoughts out there for people to digest, but not really talking. it's easy to talk about people and things and tomorrow's events, and it's easy for that to wash over my head like one big salty wave. if i try to keep up, i'm going to get sucked out to sea and i won't touch ground anymore.
i like to touch people one by one.
i like to make them laugh.
i like sharing little intimate moments.
i like it when i'm tuning everything out and they're talking over my head and right through me (kind of like the ghosts i don't believe in) and i can touch something and feel it. cold metal. the scabs on my arm from some forgotten incident. book pages, even though paper on paper on paper makes my skin crawl. the little details that hit me with startling clarity.
i like it when i'm outside of things.
(and i don't. i don't at all. and sometimes i wish i could be a little less...whatever this is.)
i'm not sad,
and i'm not alone.
i just missed my connection somewhere.
(maybe that's okay.)
"...I was...looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life." (The Great Gatsby)
(I wanted to try something new today and so here you are, a thought that's been in my head and is hopefully now put into non-cheesy words.)