I wish for an angel
I felt claustrophobic yesterday at work. Last night. This morning. I got my first big girl paycheck - with all the deductions, this does not seem worth it. I thought facing my fear and committing to this job would be worth it when I was compensated financially. The money deposited in my bank account doesn’t leave me feeling confident with this sacrifice.
The voice that whispers to me move, stay in motion, run, crawl if you have to but just keep moving is back. I’m staring down the barrel of a gun. Everything feels like a trap. I am scared that someone else, god or my family, secretly cast the net and caught me without my knowing. I fear that I am stuck here.
Putting these feelings into words is impossible. The claustrophobia is lost in translation. I am not trying to be dramatic. The opposite actually, I am striving to be rational. To give accurate depictions of the facts. And what I am trying to convey today is that I feel boxed in. My limbs cannot move freely. They are pinned to my body. I crave to be in motion, a road trip or a hike in the mountains, and not taking steps to do that feels like I’m cutting off the current that feeds me.
It is like the part of me that desperately needs freedom and spontaneity and newness has been dammed. Some cool concrete has been imposed and the waters are filling, mounting in pressure with their attempt to flow. They have no where to go. This feels unnatural.
I have to remind myself this is temporary if I want it to be. I can always quit. I can always move somewhere new. But I don’t want to run away anymore. I really don’t. In the candlelight, I lay in my bed and wish for some angel or universal love to lay with me and tell me about myself: are these cravings to leave because I’m trying to run away again or because I have put myself in a box that I was never meant to be in? Will I always be terrified of committing to something outside of myself? Will I always avoid connection? Will I always feel alone?