I’ve found peace and comfort in the darkest of places. I am there, and I am alone, and my loneliness brings me serenity. I am beyond physical sensation, I cannot feel the crushed heart in my chest, or the stinging slices in my flesh. I have found a place, where I am numb, calm, and quiet.
It is a place I can go, beyond myself, drifting into the ocean of cosmic darkness, my consciousness lifting free of the burden my body brings. It is here where I am no longer trapped by my form, but instead I connect with my truest identity. My body’s eyes are open, empty windows of which I choose not to peer from. My ears are silent, unable to hear the cruel, prodding jokes.
Travel to this transcendental dimension has a price, the steep cause of unbearable pain and accumulated trauma. I have no desire to part my lips and speak, I am numb here, and I am still. It is a place where I am both present and absent simultaneously. I can move my body, but I do not wish to forfeit the astral projection I’ve obtained.
I know not whether I created this place to preserve myself, or whether it existed, waiting for my existential breakthrough. I first discovered that I could come here in grade school, when the bullies taunted me into submission, when I could no longer run nor hide. Instead, I left my body to their mercy and I came to this dark and quiet place.
I came back for a while, only to learn that I was vulnerable, and desperate for companionship. A boy brought me back, drew me out, and as I placed my delicate heart in his hands, he withdrew them in disgust. Again, I was rejected, ostracized, and outcast. Nobody notices when I disappear, and my form continues its obligations on auto pilot. Sometimes it smiles or laughs. Here, I feel nothing. No joy, and no pain.
I don’t want to become conscious. I have no desire to awaken my awareness of the pressure in my gasping chest. To the untrained eye, I am there, just staring into space. Here, I am dead. I am resting and recovering from my inflictions and observations.
A quickened pulse beats through my body but I cannot feel it. The world continues around me, selfish, unaware, preoccupied. If they notice, they do not wake me. All for the better, I do not wish to be woken. I hide here through all of the brutal rapes and beatings of my lifetime. They may take my body from me, but they will never know where I hide. Here, I feel no sadness. I cannot feel the bruises pressed into my skin, my eyes are dry, emotionless and empty. The state of my body bears no concern to me. Here, it doesn’t hurt when no one cares.
As my tolerance for abuse increases, It becomes harder to reach my destination. This place is addictive, and I do anything it takes to get there, to get away. I am but a dingy in the thrashing water, calmed by the violence of the sea and the hypnotic melody of the siren’s call. It lures me, beautifully. I wonder how much pain must be inflicted on my soul before I can stay here for good.
I want to build my walls up, and hide here forever. Far from my excruciating reality, on some other plane of existence. I want this darkness to wrap around me and consume me in its heavy silence. It terrifies me, the appeal of this place, and my connection to it. My love for it. It is the only place where I love myself, where I can be loved, and fear nothing. That is the dangerous allure of this place of mine, that I can leave, but I do not want to. Please, do not wake me. Reality is my nightmare, and I’d rather dream than exist.
