For me, freedom is more a state of mind than anything else; that’s the thing I’ve most learned recently from being trapped for the past year. Trapped by the fear of my mom dying and not knowing what will happen to me when it happens, fear of my own failing health, fear of potentially becoming homeless… on and on…
On top of the fears, it feels like everytime anything good starts to happen or I get a bit of inspiration to try to make my life move forward in some small way that something bad happens. Like life is trying to tell me “Fuck you. You are small. You will never grow out of this. You will always be trapped in this hell.”
So for the past year or so I haven’t bothered with much of anything. Partly because I don’t have the time or energy to do more than it takes to survive each day. But also, trying seems pointless.
It’s amazing to me how much energy it takes just to survive.
But recently I got a bit of good news. Just a tiny bit, and one that could soon be fleeting, but for that small moment I felt peace. I felt free. And freedom for me, the feeling of it, is a funny thing. Because it’s kind of like giving up sugar for a while and then having a small taste. All of a sudden I want more. Chasing the freedom dragon, if you will…
So I started thinking about it during one of my insomnia nights when I couldn’t sleep and knew I would just be laying there thinking about something, so it might as well be this. I was thinking about how I felt years ago when I left for California with basically nothing – with about as little as I have now. And how I survived.
I started thinking about how liberated I felt then, although it was perhaps a delusional feeling of liberation because things were not good and I was not free and it spiraled (eventually) into the worst time of my life since childhood. But the feeling of leaving, of going there, of feeling free — despite having no clue what would happen to me — was probably the most free I have ever felt.
Anyway, somehow as I was thinking about this, I started to feel content about whatever is to come. Not that I’ll be happy, or comfortable, or even survive it. Because I know it will be hard, and I have no way of knowing what will happen to me, and I know that I could end up dead. But the odds are just as good of me dying now as then. And who cares, really? What difference does it make if I die now or later?
In some strange way, I don’t care anymore. I care, but it’s an odd sense of acceptance. Somehow this knowledge that the idea of freedom is all in my mind anyway made it better. Because what is freedom really? A delusion that makes me feel better? And if that’s true, then why not go ahead and feel free now?
This might not make sense to anyone but me, and that’s fine. But I thought I would share it anyway. Mostly because I haven’t been writing anything here lately and people have been emailing to ask if I’m dead. (No, not yet lol). I post more on my facebook page than I do here, simply because it’s become a habit. But yes, I am still alive. Strange, but alive. : – )
[Image is of pigeons, a free stock photo from pixabay]