November 26, 2009

  • I didn't think I was going to talk about it, but it seems I will.

    I came home today, to sweet old Illinois. Far too much homework for me to want to think about, plus parents who are the embodiment of my own fears. But I really didn't think of that.

    As I lay down to sleep the night before, running off of 48 hours that I'd been up, I rested contently. Going home.

    As I walked down Albany airport, things running as usual and in an environment that I knew well, I had a gnawing at my stomach. For whatever reason, I was scared.

    And as I walked through that airport in Jersey, having completed my first of two flights, I felt alone. Like I was watching life, privy to see but not partake in.

    It wasn't like normal. It wasn't the burning, throbbing, bittersweet yearn of depression. It wasn't the violent shriek of my nerves when mired in a state of deep depression. Nor was it the enjoyable type, where watching is enough, where it seems I get to see the beauty of life itself in comparison and contrast to what awfulness is possible. It was just...empty. Like I was being kept from something I once had.

    There wasn't the past or the future on my mind (odd for me). It was all right there - I just felt alone. It actually wasn't even empty. Empty is when you don't feel a want for anything. There's no desire. When I felt alone, I didn't like it. Didn't hate it because I wasn't angry. I just wanted to fix it. I wanted to reach out, to become a part of those I saw passing by.

    I don't really know what it means, but it's not like anything I've ever had before.