Its an odd kind of sensation, being in the kitchen at 3 in morning and making mac and cheese when you reliaze…. you’re alone.
And not in the sad way, not entirely, but in a safe -“no one is going to tell me off for do this” way. Being all too aware of yourself and your being gets tiring. Now that I’m alone I’m confused on how I did it all for so long. Walk on eggshells, curb my existence, hold up a sign just to please someone else: its all gone. I dont have to do it anymore
Cry in the living room? Go ahead.
Ballroom dance with your rabbit? Why not! No one is going to tell you to knock it off.
Its a sense, I’m still grappling with it all because in some cases i am still paranoid. My brain will mimic a shout of my name while I’m listening with full headphones on. In the middle of the night. All by myself.
Or if the dishwasher isn’t done as soon as I come home from work, I get this sharp pain in my chest. Out of fear I’ll lock myself in my room in order to not get yelled at, only to find that its not biggie. “If I need it, I’ll just grab it from it ” -roommate
As free as I feel, there is still a piece of me that’s trapped. Held hostage and waiting till reality catches up.
I’ll keep running. Runnung and hopping and skipping just so that piece can stay in its place. In the back. Untouched and unreal. I hated standing still. Now I refuse to.
