homesick, in a literal sense

Stability has always been out of reach. I have moved to a new home more times than I’ve celebrated my birthday; I am more familiar with change than permanence. I feel at home when I’m on the road and at peace when everything I know is being replaced.

I love giving; I generally hate receiving. I love giving advice; I don’t want yours, though. I love giving gifts, but don’t you dare give me anything. I love giving you my energy and attention when I desire to do so but don’t give me yours unrequested. There are exceptions, of course.

Don’t get me wrong; I love most of my friends. They bring me the comfort and acceptance I lacked throughout most of my life. I pick them carefully and am honored to call them my close friends. Likewise with many of my family.

We could take a deep dive into my subconscious and attempt to figure out why this is the case. Most people hate change, hate leaving what they know behind, hate having to restart. I am by no means saying I’m special, or unique, or quirky because of this. I’m also not fucked up or messed in the head. It just is what it is.

Owning things feels burdensome. I don’t want to own anything I can’t get rid of within minutes. I don’t want anyone depending on me, either. That feels like employment; only you tend to lose money rather than gain it. Actually, it’s an unpaid internship. Who the fuck wants one of those? I don’t want to depend on anyone – that’s annoying. People are rarely readily available, and they can’t always fulfill my requests. I am only aware of what I am capable of – and I’m not even fully aware.

These feelings aren’t empowering. I know what you’re thinking – I’m running away from something. I’m not doing that. I’m just drained. Every time I move, I know that whatever I am leaving behind is long gone. That’s one less thought in my constantly buzzing mind. It’s a relief.

Maybe it’s fear. It is fear, fear of being sucked into the abyss that is routine, standardization, and never-ending cycles. The misconception that comfort is settling, thus forever seeking the arousal of discomfort. I’m talking about the physiological and psychological state, not sex. You were close, but it’s not running away. It’s running towards fear. Either way, it’s some bullshit.

Inner peace isn’t what you think it is. Most of it is nonsense. You don’t have to love or respect everyone. That’s impossible. You’d waste most of your energy doing so. Plus, if we’re honest, not everyone deserves it. In reality, inner peace is coming to terms with your lack of omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence. You’re not a god to others, and you will never be one. The closest you’ll ever be to a god is within yourself. Even so, the validity of free will is debatable.

No running away or running towards. In general, I’m not a fan of running. I hate running. I have weak ankles, and overheating gives me rashes. I know this is physiologically, but similar issues exist in my mind when I’m mentally running. Have you ever read ‘What I Talk About When I Talk About Running’ by Haruki Murakami? He’s good at running – the kind of running you want. I think of him often when I get the itch, the craving, the burning desire to run. Am I running for the right reasons? Running towards the positive arousal, instead of from the anxious arousal? Running to get away from fear, rather than due to it?

Those are some internal battles and I know I’ll lie to myself to cope more often than not. It’s learning to catch yourself in your lies and figuring out why the fuck you’re running.

Author: Maria Silvestri

A 22 year old trying to figure shit out.

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