Is it Depression, or Dissonance?
A Craving for Coherence with the Outer World
I don’t know exactly what it is that I’m after, but I know I’ll continue to ache until I get it. I don’t know what shape it comes in, or where it lives, or what it’s called, or where it’s made. I don’t know where I’ll have to live, how I’ll need to spend my time, or who I’ll have to be around in order to find it. It’s not an achievement or something I want to have — it’s something I want to exist within — it’s a whole world.
So many of us feel lost, alone, unfit, or disconnected. I jumped on the bandwagon and called it depression because what else would it be? Until I realized I was homesick for tomorrow, for a place I’d never been but kept dreaming I would find. I imagined such a life with vivid uncertainty. However hazy the pictures, they gave me hope; a fantasy of somewhere I would finally belong.
The vision plays out as an unearned memory like an old story I know well but have never heard. I’m homesick for somewhere I’ve never been.
But I do know that this faceless future landscape will be the outward manifestation of my inner vibration. It will be a projection of my authentic nature. A depiction of how it feels in my chest when I’m still and quiet, or what it’s like to bathe in my homeostatic energy before some hollow noise comes along to contaminate the clean water. I’m working to get to that life; where my surroundings can’t help but drench me in more of my own essence, and I’m replenished with every inhale.
I want the life where my external and internal spaces resonate in succinct alignment like a divine harmony. I want a quantum coherence between me and my moments. The vibrational osmosis of what’s within me and what I am within. An undetectable integration with the greater experience, where the notion of self melts into oblivion, seamlessly weaving into the breeze and bleeding into the palette of sundown. Where conscious mind and present time are inseparable lovers, and not even death can do us part.
I need to get there. Or find it. Or wake up to it. I can’t survive many more days that bleed me dry like I’m the only source of water among an eternal desert. I’m like an amnesiac in my own routine — lost — contrary to the familiar predictability. An erratic cacophony among the rhythmic repetition of monotony.
The variance between me and my current environment only fosters isolation; the rampant nihilism ricochets in dissonance against my hopeful body, distinguishing my boundaries. The polluted air stings against my skin like an existential slap, emphasizing the singularity of my separate self within my space.
So I’ll keep searching, building, harnessing, digging, wandering, developing, asking… for eventual unity. It’s a blind hunt, so I have no foresight and no timeline to cue me in. But I do know that once I finally land, I’ll be certain that I’m there. I’ll know I’m home, where I belong.
