Blind Trust.

What happens when you can’t find yourself anymore? Where you feel as if you’re doing a poor job of masquerading as yourself. You’re not sure the difference from one minute to the next but you’re sure it’s there somewhere. All you know is there is some difference… there’s something that makes you feel like you’re crazy. Pure Madness raging around inside your bitter glazed veins.

Just keep walking the empty streets on an empty, cloud-covered Sunday with a vacant mind. Mingle with bodies of air that aren’t really there. Biting, wintry artic all around you in the middle of June. Nothing makes sense.

Run through those empty streets in an involuntary panic, searching. Searching.

You’re deaf save for the sound of “you’ll never find” in a whisper that tickles your nose. Tickles with a cruel mockery.
Darkness falls, and you’re blind. Blind except for the single light always just out of reach. You can almost hear it snickering at your pitiable fumbling. “You’ll never catch up.”

Someone sincerely says, “I love you” and you’re heart stops. Defibrillator. Quick. What can you do?
No, not you. It’s not you. You’re not there. You’re lost. You’re gone. You’re floating in a murky canal somewhere. You’re buried in the backyard of the only shack on St. Jude St. You’re falling out the 110th story of a building you jumped out of. You’re hiding in a white box made of rice paper and tissues.
Must be someone else.
Don’t try to confuse me with your sweet words of compassion. “Let me help you.”
Temptation to believe in something beautiful amidst the ugly.
“I love you. I can help you find. Let me.”
Go away.

"If I could wake up in a different place, at a different time, could I wake up as a different person?" ~Chuck Palahniuk