Overdosing on Benadryl. Not the most glamorous way to go.
My mind keeps shutting itself down and I’ve literally drifted off about a hundred and fifty times today already. Stuffing my face with short bread biscuits in an attempt to keep awake. My jaws are on overdrive. But I’m still sleepy.
The long weekend was… long. Saturday and Sunday were busy – which I loved, strangely enough. I say this because, on an average day, I am just about the laziest human being on the planet. But these are not average days.
I feel as if I’m undergoing some sort of strange personality transplant. I have never been more confident, but I have also never known myself less. So here I am, flaunting this brand new person around without actually taking the time to know her.
I’m avoiding her for a lot of reasons. I might not like what I find. Scarier still, I might be ok with what I find. I might not know how to right what she has already done. What I’ve let her do. I might not have the strength to turn back. I might not know how to turn this person into at least a version of myself that I can recognize.
So I’ve been blowing her off. Dodging moments of solitude where I would have time to think about or confront her. Resolving to meet with her and then standing her up, last minute, afraid to be alone with her. Watching heaps of TV instead, channeling my thoughts and energies elsewhere.
Monday came around and I hit a roadblock. Nothing to do. I’d run out of DVDs to watch. There was nothing on TV. I checked mail a hundred times until I got sick of punching in my own password.
Stir crazy. Restless. But determined not to think.
Funny how it’s possible to not think. To play hide and seek with your own thoughts. To run circles around yourself. To beat around the bush with your doppleganger. Even now, as I write about the very thing I am trying not to think about, my mind has partitioned itself. I am thinking, but only in abstract. I’m not ready to let my thoughts settle, to form any kind of concrete opinion yet.
I’m putting a lot of people on hold because of this strange woman-child who has kidnapped my psyche. I don’t want others to know more about her than I do. Sometimes I feel I have no control over what she’ll say, what she’ll do, what she’s capable of. A dangerous kind of enemy. A dangerous kind of friend.
I know a few things about her. She is older than I am. More sure of herself. She doesn’t believe in black and white. Only in grey.
She is simultaneously younger than I am. Less logical. More impulsive, but disliking the consequences of her spontaneity. Cunning in the way only a child could be. She can run faster than I can, and right now, she doesn’t want to be caught.
I know she’s not evil. Just… questionable.
There’s more that I know. But I’ll not dwell on it today.
I’m not ready. I will be. Eventually. But not yet.