I’m peeling away the layers of my heart. I’m afraid that by the time I’m 50 my soul will be bald. I will be exposed to the world like I never was before. Time is like a path stretching both in front and behind us into darkness. We leave shavings of our soul behind us like a bread-crumb trail. However, we can only see so far behind before we forget where it leads, and in front of us is almost immediate darkness. Life is, basically, carried out in the dark.
And every year that passes is just another grating to the soul. Little flakes, or in some instances, chunks, being left in that darkness to remind us that we started somewhere. But what is my fear about the New Year? I feel like I have dandruff of the soul, to put it simply.
The more defining the moment, the bigger the piece left behind; The bigger the reminder in your brain that it happened. And a reminder of what? That that moment you are never getting back, will never be rewound, will never be forgotten. So far, there have been too many moments like this, and I wonder if this year, or in the next few years, I will look in my mental mirror and see nothing left. Is that even possible? Can a soul be reduced to nothing? Do we even have souls, or is it just the name I’m giving to the thoughtful, emotional side of me.
It can’t be too irrational for me to dislike the New Year. It’s an exciting time for the opportunist in me who thinks “maybe everything will be different this year”, yet the other half leaks anxiety about “what will be different this year” because so far life has just been a domino effect of bad news. So, I’m still not sure if it rational, but it is definitely understandable that I have mixed feelings.
Also, I don’t think I’m the only one. I’m sure plenty of people feel a bit of anxiety at the coming New Year. No one likes a deadline, and the presence of the New Year itself often encourages people to tie up loose ends whether it is necessary or not.
Often, when this time of year comes around, I think of where I was in past years: what was going on in my life, whom I was and wasn’t friends with, where I was, what I was interested in, and so on and so forth. So far there has only been one consistent factor carrying on through all 15 years of my life- change. And, I guess, that’s where we find our problem. In the end I am utterly and inexplicably terrified of change.
At this point I try to think, I love change, what am I talking about…but I’m just trying to fool myself. I know damn well what I’m talking about. It’s not just any change, but change that’s out of my control. I guess my life has been so out of control that I reach for anything within my control…whether it’s changing my room around, dominating the conversation, changing my hairstyle, or other small things that I control. So, I guess in the end I have a control problem? It doesn’t seem so bad, though when you put it against the background. It’s just my way of coping, I guess, and at least I’m aware of it.
Well, goodnight, followers. If you actually read through this, you read through Alee’s reasoning process and narrowing down her thoughts and emotions to reveal the bare truth of it. It actually feels nice to get this off my chest and I’m glad I’ve sorted through it. I know this should probably go on a diary and not on public display, but, I don’t think I mind shouting it out to the world. J
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