Distorted Lullabies
I fell asleep last night in my deep sea of thoughts.
I woke up still in the deep ocean, unable to surface, and didn’t want to surface.
This has happened a few times in the past. But I usually hide it well that by the time y’all see me again, I’m back to my normal, cheerful self.
As if nothing has happened.
But actually, so many things have happened.
The night hasn’t ended, but I have already replayed the scenario in my head countless times. As if I am recalling a vivid memory. As if the confrontation, the indifference, the distance, the fallout — had already happened.
I let the sadness wash over me completely. I don’t enjoy being sad. It just feels safe and familiar to me.
Dear friends,
I’m sorry if I disappeared again.
I know the few times when it happened previously, everyone noticed I am not there even though I intended to disappear quietly.
I don’t mean to worry you. I just don’t want to burden everyone with my problems.
And no, I don’t want to talk about it. Not sharing it doesn’t mean I don’t trust anyone. I just didn’t know how to start, what to say, and how to say it without turning this into a catastrophe.
I am so deep in the ocean of thoughts that I cannot speak when underwater.
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Some days, I’m scared to face my thoughts.
Because I feel deeply and intensely. Some days it scares me so much, that I have to pull away to keep them intact.
Some days, I don’t pull away — I just dive into the deep ocean and let the sheer weight of my emotions crush me. Hopefully, if I do this enough, the stronger I’ll get to take the baggage off my shoulders.
But I don’t want to disappear forever.
Despite how I felt that the world is ending when being deep in the spiral, I know that this too shall pass.
And I guess that’s what making it so hard — being in the in-between phase where half my body is facing out the door, with the other half still in the room. Looking, waiting for a sign that will hopefully show me that I’m still allowed.
I try to protect myself from being hurt by disappearing. But I hurt myself deeper in the process.
The spiral is what I cannot run away from.
The spiral is what brings me deeper into the ocean.
I don’t know how long I will be in the deep sea of thoughts.
The longer I’m in it, the safer it feels.
The ocean protects me from the storm on shore.
As long as I don’t see it, I can pretend that it’s not there.
The waves are heavy enough for one person.
I don’t need you to wait for me to be back at shore.
As long as you’re safe and you’re well elsewhere — that’s all I need to know.
