As she listened to his tired excuses she realised that the mediocrity of her settings, though ever-changing, gave her a feeling of constant disorientation. She had to consciously focus to remind herself where she was. She only ever had to, or thought to do this when she had to go somewhere. It didn’t matter where she was until another destination had to be reached. This seemed true for life. Without an immediate goal her current position was irrelevant. She hadn’t considered her life until she abruptly decided (she only ever made decisions abruptly and could change her mind with the same intensity at any moment) that she would leave this place before the years end, whether that meant this flat, this town or this country was of little regard.
Oh yes, this one, seemingly inconsequential fluttering of a thought drew back the frosted glass that had impeded her vision. How could she ever know if she was different while surrendering to this orgy of ‘same-ness’?
In just a few moments, that when looking back would seem an eternity, she decided to introduce herself to the world. She didn’t buy into the whole ‘self discovery’ bull shit, she knew who she was, she knew herself inside out and could enumerate her own flaws better than even the most invasive observer. They did not know her, and how could they; they had never had the chance to be properly acquainted.
It was a leap for sure; well I suppose more like a push and a fall. She was standing behind her real self on the edge of a cliff, and she pushed. Though hesitant it was strong and deliberate.
Now don’t go thinking she was brave or wonderful or even good. It took her 20 years of standing at that edge to get the courage, or the stupidity, to shove herself off. If the world deemed her unbearable then so be it, and if hatred or worse, indifference was what they felt she would be the first to understand.
How wonderful it would be to stare down the barrel of a gun and think ‘I was 110% myself, any mistakes or hardships I caused or suffered were a direct result of the definitive aspect of freedom - honesty.’ Even with her teeth making horrible little scraping noises on the barrel, imperceptible to anyone but her, she could hold her head high and welcome Death. In being herself she made a deal with Death, that she would readily relinquish her hold on life, but only when it was her time. She had living to do, crying and laughing to do. Most importantly she had loving to do. She craved love more than a dying child croaking desperately through a swollen tongue and cracked, bleeding lips for water. She wanted to find it and wrap her arms and legs around it. She dreamt of gorging herself on it, and it consuming her. She imagined a life that was never the same again after every little step. Even if this love did not or would not exist, she wouldn’t be true to herself if she didn’t keep wanting and needing, and what as life without herself? It was simply a series of events, good, bad or otherwise in which she coasted along in neutral towards her waiting grave. In just a few simple moments she grabbed the wheel and felt within her the engine adjust and roar to life, finally in sync with the rumbling of her soul.
For the first time she was experiencing someone else. So long in one comfort zone only to realise she was no longer comfortable. That she wanted more than comfortable.