I feel like I haven't learned the words to describe how I'm feeling.
Will someone please tell me what it is I'm feeling?
Said goodnight and went downstairs. The snow was thickly falling, creating that misty fog of snow that covers all the street lights in the distance. Only one of my blinds was open. I took off my shirt, and was getting ready to close the blind, and go to bed. But I looked out through the falling snow, and I saw the docks. I had to go. Shirt, shoes, hat, jacket, and I was outside. Up a hill, then down a long hill. I walked in the middle of the road. First it felt like I owned the world, like the empty street with the dimmed lights and the falling snow gave me reign over the few hundred yards I could see. My new crisp footsteps in the half filled in tire tracks marked the road as mine, marked the darkened world as mine. I kept walking and not knowing why, but it felt frantic, I had to get to the water. The feeling crept into me, the need. The night was so peaceful and so perfect. Nothing in the world but me, the snow, and my fresh footprints. It felt like the right time to go down to the water, lay all my clothes in a pile, and jump into the water. As I think now, I remember our elementary school swimming teacher telling us that ten or fifteen minutes was about all you could expect from the winter waters here. I walked down one dock, to one corner, and then the other. At the second one I could see a seal in the darkness, floating along the surface. It dover under quickly, but it was there. It was witness to me standing over and seeing into an infinite grayness. I moved to the other dock from one corner to the other. Two more seals and two sea gulls were witness to me standing over that cold cold water. Folding my clothes into a pile and jumping in. Should I leave a note scrawled in the new snow? I am two steps and ten feet up from joining this world I witness. From joining this fleetingly perfect world.
Heading back home the haunting beauty is diminished. I am shaken, and my glasses and fogged and wet and covered in snow. I could not. How can a pleasant goodnight, and a scrawl in the snow begin to explain a frozen body found days later? My frozen guilt would be overwhelming. The route back home has me thinking. My footprints do not own this world. My footprints mark this passing until morning. Until the snowplow comes and sweeps the streets clean. The temperature read 32 on the way down 31 on the way up. This is heavy and wet snow. Either the plow will get them, new tire tracks will overtake them, or higher temperatures and cold rain will wash them away. Why do I feel like I'm reverting again. Two steps forward three steps back, or two steps forward two steps back, or two steps forward one step back? Where am I? Farther and farther back to that pseudo philosophical informal psychology bullshit of high school. So why did today feel so surreal? Why did today feel fake? Urges like this don't come around often. That siren song of the snow and the water drew me farther than almost every other time, before teetering back. Something upset my delicate balance. Something made those thoughts that constantly bleed out destroy the precarious balance in which I hold my mind. It feels like it is a battle to be me. I fight against my own mind, my own thoughts. They strive to break free and control. To kill and to rampage. To strike out against myself and others. Why did this perfect night do this to me?
Will someone please tell me what it is I'm feeling?
Said goodnight and went downstairs. The snow was thickly falling, creating that misty fog of snow that covers all the street lights in the distance. Only one of my blinds was open. I took off my shirt, and was getting ready to close the blind, and go to bed. But I looked out through the falling snow, and I saw the docks. I had to go. Shirt, shoes, hat, jacket, and I was outside. Up a hill, then down a long hill. I walked in the middle of the road. First it felt like I owned the world, like the empty street with the dimmed lights and the falling snow gave me reign over the few hundred yards I could see. My new crisp footsteps in the half filled in tire tracks marked the road as mine, marked the darkened world as mine. I kept walking and not knowing why, but it felt frantic, I had to get to the water. The feeling crept into me, the need. The night was so peaceful and so perfect. Nothing in the world but me, the snow, and my fresh footprints. It felt like the right time to go down to the water, lay all my clothes in a pile, and jump into the water. As I think now, I remember our elementary school swimming teacher telling us that ten or fifteen minutes was about all you could expect from the winter waters here. I walked down one dock, to one corner, and then the other. At the second one I could see a seal in the darkness, floating along the surface. It dover under quickly, but it was there. It was witness to me standing over and seeing into an infinite grayness. I moved to the other dock from one corner to the other. Two more seals and two sea gulls were witness to me standing over that cold cold water. Folding my clothes into a pile and jumping in. Should I leave a note scrawled in the new snow? I am two steps and ten feet up from joining this world I witness. From joining this fleetingly perfect world.
Heading back home the haunting beauty is diminished. I am shaken, and my glasses and fogged and wet and covered in snow. I could not. How can a pleasant goodnight, and a scrawl in the snow begin to explain a frozen body found days later? My frozen guilt would be overwhelming. The route back home has me thinking. My footprints do not own this world. My footprints mark this passing until morning. Until the snowplow comes and sweeps the streets clean. The temperature read 32 on the way down 31 on the way up. This is heavy and wet snow. Either the plow will get them, new tire tracks will overtake them, or higher temperatures and cold rain will wash them away. Why do I feel like I'm reverting again. Two steps forward three steps back, or two steps forward two steps back, or two steps forward one step back? Where am I? Farther and farther back to that pseudo philosophical informal psychology bullshit of high school. So why did today feel so surreal? Why did today feel fake? Urges like this don't come around often. That siren song of the snow and the water drew me farther than almost every other time, before teetering back. Something upset my delicate balance. Something made those thoughts that constantly bleed out destroy the precarious balance in which I hold my mind. It feels like it is a battle to be me. I fight against my own mind, my own thoughts. They strive to break free and control. To kill and to rampage. To strike out against myself and others. Why did this perfect night do this to me?
Will someone please tell me what it is I'm feeling?