I'm hoping this entry isn't as disjointed as I think it is going to be.Something strange happened to me today. I was reading a book - one that I think will effect me greatly - and somehow I just slipped away. "Disociative state" is all I can think to describe it, but who knows if that is the right term or not. It felt as though I were falling back into a memory, or an experience, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it was. During that moment it was as if the world was bending, as if I wasn't quite...in the same one. It all looked the same, and yet wasn't. As it slowly shifted away from me, it seemed as though the only one in this "other world" was me. That brought some kind of fear, as, I was being taken away into another dimension and no one else around me was aware of it (not that I knew those around me, or even specifically wanted them to intervene).
Things like this have been happening to me more and more lately. I am worried for myself - though it seems as if its the type of worrying of a bystander looking in. A passing thought, not really integrated with my own mind. I read the term "passive suicidal" and I would like to believe this is not what I am, but a part of my worries because I am growing more and more like I was a long time ago.
It is not so much that I would like to die, but moreso that I would just really like to go home. Granted, the only possible way I am aware of to get there is by dying. This isn't something I tend to bring up a lot because I feel as though, even though they might listen and sympathize, no one will really understand it (and the one person who would, I can no longer talk to about it). From so long ago I can remember hoping, praying, wishing on stars - doing anything possible to get someone to take me from this world. To bring me home. No matter what it was always my wish.
Though, for some reason I can hardly remember those times (whether its just bad memory or me forcing myself to forget I do not know), I know this feeling all too well and that is part of what is stopping me from acknowledging it - trying to make myself forget the feeling even now. But I can't deny that I have been calling to him for help again. He visits me, every so often. Maybe he's given up on me because I keep pushing all thoughts out of my mind - I won't let myself remember or introspect or try at anything that could bring up stuff that is painful. But I call out to him. Please please please, just let me go home.
But as usual, there is no answer. Or rather, the answer is no.
I know I might benefit from trying to remember, from trying to talk to him, to them, and work all this out, but I'm so afraid of the pain. Maybe I'm not meant to remember. At least that is what I tell myself.
Yet I don't want to become my old self. I liked what I had become, but it seems to be crumbling away, and my fear won't let me do anything about it. I pray to go home instead of fixing my world here. (and a part of me asks if I even have a world here?) And I want him to talk to me like he used to, but another part of me won't let him because I'm afraid of what he might say. I'm instrumenting my own undoing, I just hope I can snap out of it before things go too far south.
