037 - homesick
when you were young, you spent a lot of time in the closet. in that way, yes, but also in a much more direct way. you kept the inside covered in a layer of old jackets and musky blankets, you'd crawl in, shut the doors behind you, and feel alone, away from your family, from the world at large, from the bitter cold.
you were always obsessed with secrets. you did a lot of walking as a kid, around the back streets of your small suburb, around the edges of the reserves, hoping to find some trail or grotto. you remember how big the world felt when you were very small, and you desperately yearned to recapture that magic. more than anything else, you were terrified that one day, you wouldn't, that some day you'd live in a world that was small and understood. you'd skulk around your house in the dreamlike hope of uncovering a disused passage or secret room somewhere. one day, you pried open a small hatch in your laundry and found you could crawl onto the dirt underneath your floorboards.
you recall the story of a dog, crawling alone under the house to die. you can't help but think you'd maybe do the same some day.
you moved out, into a suburb surrounded on all sides, where people lived their lives in million dollar houses and SUVs. in a way, this felt like freedom, in a way, this felt like dying. you threw yourself deeply into people - new friends, weirdos like you, outcasts that you felt an inexorable sense of connection to. you immersed yourself in different groups, trying to find some kind of kinship that'd make it all worthwhile. you looked for the world in experiences, in drugs, in people. sometimes you felt like you found it.
you've always had a particular kind of drive - the seemingly insatiable desire for more, whatever that looks like for you. you always had the fantasy as a child that one day you'd move to the big city. but now you've been there a few times, and you're starting to learn the streets just as you learned the streets of the suburb you grew up in. you yearned for stronger feelings, and sometimes, you think you have them.
i sometimes wonder if i'm capable of ever feeling satisfied
maybe as you grew up this feeling dimmed, or maybe it got pushed back by the cruel nature of reality, as more parts of your life started solidifying as they cooled. part of you hopes to find some contentment in this, to find a quiet life you enjoy, but another part of you is utterly terrified by this thought. part of you thinks that to do that would be akin to dying.
there are two dogs inside you, and it feels like they're constantly at each other's throats. hemmed in on all sides by a life you tried desperately to make feel like yours. you want to go home.