Solitude (cont’d.)

Residency is in thirteen days. 

Thirteen days until complete solitude.

Until I get to turn my phone off, tune out the world, ignore my emails, rid myself of Facebook and Instagram, and all the stupid fucking noise.

Thirteen days until I get to do nothing but eat, sleep, read, write, and walk around in the Osage winter. I have no illusions about what I’ll find. There will be no transcendence. No enlightenment. Just silence. Sweet, sweet uninterrupted silence. For thirty days. 

Thirty days of solitude.

Thirty days alone with myself.

Alone with my words. And my books. 

For thirty days I want nothing to do with the world. I want nothing to do with you. Or my friends. Or family.

I have feared my loneliness for so long. Now I shall have nothing but.

And honestly I am so looking forward to it. 

You want to know why?

Because I have spent my life looking to the outside for completion. And I have looked everywhere. In the eye of an estrogen needle. In the forest green peepers of my old lover. In bags and bags of marijuana. In meaningless sex. In video games. In travel. In false communities. And false attachments.

I have run myself ragged to the point of resentment and exhaustion. If I could be a frog on a lily pad I would. If I could be a fleck of dust in a Sunbeam I would. It’s not that I dislike life. On the contrary I find it to be a beautiful phenomenon.

It’s that I just want to tune everything out and be by myself. Where I can’t be hurt or put upon. Where my only job is to write my stories and read my books. 

Where no one can find me, no one can reach me. 

It is rather beautiful that so many people love me even though all I want is privacy and solitude; even though all I want is time to spend with the one person who can bring me true peace: me.

I won’t lie.

I’m depressed. Quite depressed.

Not like kill-myself-depressed.

More like nothing-in-this-world-has-meaning depressed.

More like nothing-gives-lasting-joy depressed.

More like soul-level depressed. And the weird part is I’m actually quite content with it. I like being depressed. Because it means one thing:

The old forms are falling away. The fallacies. The illusions. The lies. The stupid fucking disingenuous manipulative games of power and control. The void filling. Let it fall. Let it burn. Let my heart close up shop for a while. Everyone out of the pool.

I said everyone out of the fucking pool. Everyone. I just want to float.


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