Sunday Musings

When do you know, if you're really you?

Sometimes I feel like there's a me that's more than just me, more than just the human, regular me - going through the basic motions of life. It feels like an uncontained flight, like I simultaneously exists on earth and like a kite in the sky, tethered to my existence on earth.


This curious flight is disassociation from reality. It's withdrawing from emotions and feelings and maintaining a bird's eye view of self and the happenings of self. Typically born of trauma, also evidence of undue stress; this flight is barely conscious. It's a coping mechanism.


But that's the irony - a coping mechanism can never make you cope with reality. It's an escape. It's an illusion.


That's when I force myself into me, forcing reality in front of my eyes, in bold letters, big font, so it's visible from my faraway flight. This helps me be closer to reality, helps me acknowledge it's existence, helps me face it, tackle it and walk on solid ground again.


Not every flight represents freedom.

Sometimes it's just a distorted mirror image of freedom - escapism.


Have you ever felt this way?


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