(no subject)
So today I am resurrected, and my soul is returned to me.
I woke up this morning and I said to myself, "Today is a day where I am content, and everything is right within my world," and it was. It is.
Looking around, it feels as though the things that define me are mired too deeply in a hard reality. My clothing, my jewelrey, even the nontangible things like icons and page format feel as though they've created a shape, a box, and right now I don't fit inside of it.
When I move, it feels as though I'm floating rather than walking, that my mind is a ways ahead of me and my body is floating along behind it.
Reality seems dimmer than normal, and I feel as though the ties that keep me in the here and now are dissolved.
I know that time is passing, I think coherently, I understand what I need should have to do, but my thinking is softer.
I like to be like this. I have to be careful, though, because if I read or do homework or talk to someone, it feels like my thinking is slowly becoming more and more solid until I am stuck in reality again.
Even now, I can feel the transition. I am beginning to think in terms of life again, in terms of what is was may be will be.
I'm not sure what this is. I don't fear it, and it happens every so often. I can come out of it if I want to.
This is one of the few times I've written anything while feeling this way. It feels as though if I try, the words will bind and tether and drag whatever it is away and I break back into what is real. This can only last so long, because what is is what is real and I can't avoid it.
Language is hard, hard as diamonds and harder, and it's dragging me back. I think I'm going to go and be real again, because there are things I need to do. I don't know when this will come again.
I woke up this morning and I said to myself, "Today is a day where I am content, and everything is right within my world," and it was. It is.
Looking around, it feels as though the things that define me are mired too deeply in a hard reality. My clothing, my jewelrey, even the nontangible things like icons and page format feel as though they've created a shape, a box, and right now I don't fit inside of it.
When I move, it feels as though I'm floating rather than walking, that my mind is a ways ahead of me and my body is floating along behind it.
Reality seems dimmer than normal, and I feel as though the ties that keep me in the here and now are dissolved.
I know that time is passing, I think coherently, I understand what I need should have to do, but my thinking is softer.
I like to be like this. I have to be careful, though, because if I read or do homework or talk to someone, it feels like my thinking is slowly becoming more and more solid until I am stuck in reality again.
Even now, I can feel the transition. I am beginning to think in terms of life again, in terms of what is was may be will be.
I'm not sure what this is. I don't fear it, and it happens every so often. I can come out of it if I want to.
This is one of the few times I've written anything while feeling this way. It feels as though if I try, the words will bind and tether and drag whatever it is away and I break back into what is real. This can only last so long, because what is is what is real and I can't avoid it.
Language is hard, hard as diamonds and harder, and it's dragging me back. I think I'm going to go and be real again, because there are things I need to do. I don't know when this will come again.