It’s feeling like this that makes you wonder how many pills are in the cabinet.
Feeling like your skin doesn’t quite fit, an itchy, crawly restlessness that no amount of motion will shake off: too hot; too cold; too bright in here; it’s too dark to read in this light; why did I pick this book anyway; it’s breakfastlunchdinner time and yet I’m not hungry but McDonald’s sounds like a good idea.
Nothing works, nothing fits, and there is no solution to this cross, crabby feeling, like you woke up 30° off center with the entire universe. You don’t mean to snap at your relativegirlboyfriend who really truly just want to make you feel better but you don’t have access to anything except this bubbling, formless discomfort. Puking it out on to them in snappish tones, sarcasm, and rolling eyes doesn’t help either as it’s endless, like a gas that just expands and expands and expands to fill whatever space is available inside you ballooning you to twicethreefour times your normal size even though part of you feels as small as a dried up pea that rolled under the couch and isn’t discovered until the lease is up, the furniture moved, and the place is getting cleaned to get back the security deposit.
It’s feeling like this, among other reasons, that people seek the oblivion of the nod, the high, the confidence that a snort or two from one of those bottles in the cabinet seems to bring. It’s why so many of us overspend, overeat, yell at our kids, and watch too much TV.
Narcotized we stumble through our lives not searching for the answers, not looking inside to figure out why we feel like this but instead howling like infants who just want the pain, discomfort, and fear to go. away. not realizing that this, this feeling like nothing fits, like nothing will ever be right again is an opportunity, a chance to find out what is here at off-center and whether or not we want to stay.
It’s feeling like this that makes people think oblivion is a better alternative even if it is only the temporary kind.
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