I become so consumed by who I am professionally that I forget about me personally. There is nothing but the work automaton who takes over and goes. She is professional and smiling and bubbly and kindhearted and liked. People like her. She is this surface creature, a construct for the waking world, a projection.
And somewhere underneath there is me, and I get lost in creating the shell and I become nothing. I get so caught up in being on that I don’t appreciate how far away I am from any semblance of myself.
And then there is nothing.
Nothing true. The construct feels, has awareness, interacts with reality, but the truth is that there is just nothing. Nothing.
And I get so lost in it. I spend weeks down underneath something, without being freed from it. There are long stints of work, and moving, and life on the road. I lose my sense of reality and suddenly life loses color and is nothing but grays and pop songs. Music with so little emotion and feeling becomes trapped in my brain and I am stuck in it. There is mediocrity and I am the paradigm of mediocrity; with my smiling and laughing and cajoling and handshakes. I do understand you, I do, I am with you, I am here, surface and smiling, and aren’t we warm and friendly, and aren’t we close, and aren’t we loved? No hint, no trace of anything that might be darker, or secrets, or surprises or emotions that might be tucked away and buried and hidden from you and your belief in this waking, working person. Nothing, nothing, nothing but who you think you know?
And then I’m lost in it.
Lost in the dark with no option to bring in light, so deep under the construct thing that I feel like I cannot breathe. So far down that I am drowning in me and I don’t know how to get back. Suffocation of the worst kind because I am in control of it in some way, and at the same time so far removed from control of it in others. I fight to bring me back.
Deny and twist and turn and push away from truth, from reality, from the surface. I fight because part of me thinks it will be easier to stay buried and just ghost walk through life. When people like the shadow of you, there is something about it that is easier and maybe truer.
Struggle and push and pull against reality until finally I feel myself back at the surface and I am here, and I am free and breathe, like life, like rebirth, like coming home.
And suddenly there is reality and it is real, and it is bright and wonderful and full of colors and sounds and pain and emotion.
I’m almost back…more freedom, more pushing is what I need. Just a bit more and I will break free completely and be returned to myself; a few more steps and then I will slam into the world.