"it's called culture shock, hello-o"
There has to be an ending, this I know, but it’s hard to believe that it’s finally upon me. I’m sitting in a cafe back in Lancaster County and I thought I would feel something upon returning but I feel nothing. I feel the same, but so, entirely different. I feel completely alone but I relish it. I’ve spent so much time completely alone, I don’t know if I’ll be phased by it any longer. I’ve learned ... so much. Since my return, I’ve learned that ... I don’t walk very much. I can’t stomach milk. My face is not unique, or special, besides that it’s mine. We are all less than perfect, and completely okay with that. Stupid, trivial things that I notice because I can’t accept anything bigger, not yet. I feel disconnected from everything that I previously found an identity with. I realize now that I’ve wasted so much time caring about things that don’t matter. I see so many miserable faces, alone, distracted, driving, and I know I must look the same. It’s as if I’ve been solidly drunk and now I am sober. Memories of my time away are blurred and scattered in my mind. There is so much to remember, so much that has changed me, I will never be able to give a voice to what I feel now. The smallest bits are the strongest. I remember eating an apple over the balcony, juice sticking to my nose and dripping onto my fingers, wondering if anyone would look up and see me sprawled over the railing and confuse me with the laundry hung out to dry. I remember sitting on a bed, back stretched over like a cat, shoulder blades unlocked, spine taut, my hands holding my tired, tired feet in the blinking red and orange tower lights and crying. I remember faces that held no meaning and now that I’m home, I realize that most faces are the same. Not in features but in feeling. I don’t know what my reality is anymore and I don’t think about it too carefully. Moving forward is the only possibility, and the challenge of it stings, it tears, it’s broken me into pieces scattered over the world and here I’m drawing my lips back in disdain at those who are still whole. Whatever held me together the past four months ... none of it is present anymore.
I repeat to myself endlessly that I must keep going, I must move forward. But my heart is so heavy thinking of the future. And yet so hopeful? I am afraid of losing everything I’ve gained. But I refuse to let go. Each word I write is raw and heavy. I imagine the letters hitting the pages like slabs of cold meat, heavy with cynicism and completely lifeless. There is no elegance, no composition and I’m sure I’m going to read this later and chide myself for letting it out this way but I have no power to be anything but blunt. A word of advice to anyone, everyone -- you will feel doubt, and sadness, and your heart will grow weary (if it isn’t already) but you cannot settle. I feel myself sinking each day, and the only thing that drags me back up is this strange determination to be more than I am now and to keep what became important to me.
I wasn’t alive until I learned to discard what made me unhappy. As much as my heart falls, I cannot (and will not) let go of anything that lifts it again. Never settle, never settle, never settle.
I want to thank everyone who has given me support. Without it, I’d have crumbled so, so long ago.