My Faceless Dark Passenger

Over the past month, I have wrestled with some long-standing personal demons that I’ve never really faced down before.  This has been the culmination of more than a year of intense soul-searching, looking at myself in ways I never had before, really giving some serious exploration into why I do the things I do.

And I came to a sudden realization tonight… for the past week or so, the urges haven’t been there.

Before this, they’ve always been there.  Always.  It’s been a constant, for as long as I can recall.  The only other time I’ve ever been free of their grasp is for a few hours, maybe a day, after an indulgence.  Other than that, a never-ending hunger.

But now, a week.  Seven days.  I can almost feel this void inside me where they used to be, like an overbearing roommate who’s suddenly moved out and taken half the furniture with them.  I have all this space in my head, and I don’t know what to do with it.  I feel like I’m in some kind of hyper-reality, everything is somehow more vivid, but nothing’s real.  My world has become an overexposed photo, a million unnoticed details now glaring at me.

Will this last?  Do I want it to?  Do I dare even hope it will?  And what do I do with this new space in my mind?  If my Passenger has really taken a leave of absence… his seat’s still warm, but it’s empty, and I’ve never known this kind of feeling.  When someone’s lived their whole life in chains, and the chains suddenly vanish, it’s very easy to become paralyzed by the sheer sense of freedom.  The possibly of everything now makes it impossible to do anything.

My head’s just spinning with all of this, and for the first time I don’t have those dark whispers to tell me what to do.

Nothing but an empty seat, waiting for something to fill it.

For the first time ever, any choice I make is mine, and mine alone.

I can do anything I want… but I don’t want to do the things I’ve always wanted to do.  There’s my paradox…

it comes and goes.

(via thisismylastresortt)