โLosing yourself is an uphill battle. Especially when you canโt leave your comfort zone. You havenโt really had a comfort zone your entire life and once you get it, you become addicted.โ
โComfort should be a sinโฆโ
The woman swirled the glass of amber-ish brown liquid, her wrist limp apart from her fingertip-grip on the cup.
โIt starts with simple things. People ask questions to get to know you, you call it small talk. You hate small talkโฆ And try to avoid it as much as possible. Whatโs your favorite color? What music do you listen to? What shows do you watch? And as soon as they bring up something youโve never seen and you say thatโฆ God, the obnoxious excitement of โOh you gotta watch it!โ Comes up. And you probably never do. Because everyone does it.โ
โThen you start to get insecure. Try to enjoy a movie or a show but you just canโt. Try to listen to music they recommend but it all sounds the same. Try to watch a movie or two but theyโre just uninteresting.โ
โThen you wonder what else youโre missing out on. And then they drop the bigger questions because you told them you donโt like small talk.โ
โWhat are your long term goals? Ambitions? Dreams?โ
โAnd then you realize maybe it wasnโt small talk you hate. Maybe you hate every question they ask because you think and think and think and you never have an answer. You donโt make goals, you donโt have ambitions, you donโt dream big or small or dream at all.โ
โWhen do you start seeing a stranger in the mirror? You know itโs your face, your hair or maybe lack of it, your eyes your nose your lipsโฆ But none of it looks familiar anymore.โ
โYou recognize your voice but not yourself. At least most people can agree on how uncanny things become when you hear your own voice played back at you. Not many people like that. And thank god Iโm not alone on something.โ
Her fingers tap the glass, eyes absently drifting downward in thought.
โYou donโt have favorites. Or preferences. Or traits you can identify. Every hobby you have becomes stale. Every opinion just doesnโt feel good enough. And eventually you realize thereโs not a piece of you left from who you left behind. And not in a good way. You shed your skin, your muscles, your nerves and your bonesโฆ And whatโs left? Whatโs there to drag along with you when not even you accompany yourself?โ
She downs the drink in one gulp - not much was left anyways - and she grabs her wallet to pay for her things. Once thatโs settled quickly, she stands up and adjusts her jacket, not even looking back at the person she had been rambling to.
โDonโt try to get to know me. I need to know me first.โ
โAnd Iโm not there yet.โ
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