I'm a Neuron of this Universe- All Impulse and Fire

Really, no matter how hard someone brags about being a lone wolf and working alone, sometimes you get that inescapable feeling of wanting inclusion, of feeling and knowing you are seen and appreciated... For people to react to your presence and for you to post your attendance every now and then, on other people's stories and posts as well as your own. A need for people to see, to see what you see, to understand what you mean, even the slight hope of meeting someone... for someone to find you the way you want them to, to see you the way you would want them to.

There's a constant gravitational pull I feel, physically, even through invisibility it beckons me to use it and watch another post or check another person's stories or posts... And I give in. The only time I've been able to resist it is when I don't have the damn app on my phone. I've deleted my accounts several times because I don't know what to make of it but I come back each time all sheepish and needy, asking for validation and acceptance, of wanting to be a part of the "group" again... Not wanting to feel excluded ever so often, of losing whoever I have. And so I come back each time I leave. Each time I think I'm strong enough to not want it or resist it when I choose to like so many people do... I wish I could, really. But I'm not like that.

So afraid of missing out, but so scared of losing myself in other people's lives. The days without it are truly some of the most peaceful I've ever known... And then I start the cycle of missing it again and I wonder why I'm not like the other sane people out there... the people who have self control, or at least enough of it to fight off destructive behaviours. But when it truly comes down to it I wouldn't like to be like them, but then why do I pine for their minute instantaneous approval? I know I would rather feel so much of everything rather than not feel anything at all or feel less of what I feel because my existence as who I am makes me more of myself everyday. I feel it growing inside me, the art, the love, the soul of things that are good.. of things that inspire creation. But Instagram changes me, it makes me want things I know are not good for me or aren't what I really want to meet the future with. It brings out the worst in me, all my insecurities return from the depths of my subconscious and I feel them prying at healed clots and tingling new nerves with old memories and scars.

It makes me wonder if oceans ever yearn for ships to sail across them? Do stars want us to wander off and then find them and truly see direction, hope and learning and sense?

The answers are simple too, the poet cannot wait for their rhymes to become common household echoes to create more poetry. That truly would be as silly as an ocean waiting for a ship. Both have deep thriving living secrets and life in them, life that goes on with or without the interference of humans outside.

I know I worry too much, but worry is the cousin of overthinking. They have a familiar, familial shadow and they cross paths every now and then. I cannot really get rid of them, but I can face them and shun them every time I need to.

And for many I know this sounds a tad bit dramatic and it is, a little bit anyway.

To me, my fears are as real as shadows and as predictable. Their movements distorted by light every now and then. But I have to treat this like it's my problem and not anyone else's. By definition then, nobody knows what I am going through and there's nothing they can do to help me if I don't understand their help or want it.

Sometimes all I fear is them even knowing. How do I explain to them? This feeling, a feeling everyone relates to at some point in their life, even if that moment ends as soon as it starts? How do I explain why fear usually has its claws around my neck? How do I explain why I need people to understand even when I know they won't? Why do I chase their understanding to sit down with me and see things my way for once, to see the claw scratching at my throat. But mostly they don't and mostly I'm okay with it, it's better to go through it alone than have people look at you like a disheveled damsel in distress, the kind of damsel that cannot stand up against the monster keeping her, who has grown somehow comfortable with the idea of captivity, a prisoner grown fond of the prison perhaps.

No one can truly fully save you if you don't want to be saved. But you wouldn't really want to be saved or at least not face others, if all you got after running away from the prison was :

"Are you sure it was real? Maybe you overthought and exaggerated things?"

"The claws are real!" You tell them, "There are bruises in places you can't see but they're there I swear!" Almost pleading, begging even, you tell them.

They don't question you anymore, but they don't believe you either. Your faith withers again and you feel your neck for claw marks and you feel them there but you think they're not real, that maybe you are imagining so much of this. If you give in to that? Their smug smiles would return as confidently as sunlight after rain, like they own the place, like they own your narrative. What they would say? you would believe.

And so I've chosen to step away from anything that stops me from being who I really am. I don't want to lose control of my narrative and who I am... And for what? A few dry snippets of thrice scrapped conversations? Or random half hearted inclusions and ghostly appreciation? I feel as inconsequential as a pebble sometimes, in these situations. And then I listen to myself and hear my stories spin around in my mind, new and old, of love and lore and stupid bravery and inconsequential re-imaginings. And I feel like neuron of the universe, learning, registering, expanding, necessary. I feel as infinite as time, as old as life itself. I exist, I live, and I love this little corner the universe has placed me in knowing that I won't stay here. But sometimes, suddenly, other people’s fears start clawing at me, fears I have no idea how to conquer, their fears of me being alone, of me being hurt or me missing out on life, their fears trying to root in my soul. Fears I wouldn’t really know how to deal with because they weren’t my own, unfamiliar. So I need the distance, distance the words ‘recluse’, ‘freak’, 'selfish', 'scared' and ‘weird’ give me, never used in a good way. An anchor they threw at me to drown me to keep me where they want me to be. So it’s up to me to shed it off and swim up to the surface... Where the entire universe waits for me, always.

I am a part of the universe, but I contain it too. I'll be just fine if I am all I will have, but I don't want to go back to feeling like I have to compete with anyone else for survival or learning or acknowledgement or love or admiration.

I exist as myself, this is gift enough for now. This is who I am, easily hurt, a tad bit dramatic and always hopeful of things and myself, all full of impulse, a mighty neuron of the universe.

Sincerely confused,

but yours truly.

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