I am losing Things. I am losing Autumn, I am losing music, perhaps even myself. I had originally though this idea to be quite liberating; now I'm not so sure.
Autumn used to be the season for magic, for crunching leaves, great round pumpkins filled with slimy strings and seeds for roasting. The air felt new, and it made me feel new too. Autumn forgave the other seasons for their harshness, and it forgave me too.
I am losing Autumn. Some force has taken it from me. The magic has gone. The leaves, usually brilliantly boasting Autumn hues, appear drab. The sky's infinite blue seems vastly empty. The wind does not feel new, it feels cold. I do not feel forgiven.
Music has served as my safe-haven for over a decade. No matter what emotion I faced, what struggle I was fighting, what task I was approaching, there was something to match my mood, my strength, my fear. Music has been a friend to me when no friends could be found. When i was confused, not sure even what it was I was feeling, I could find music that comforted me, and it allowed me to look backward and figure it out. Music was my fortress, shield, sword, tower, and dragon all in one.
Now I sit in realms of silence. I am no longer perpetually ensconced in music. My radio is silent, my playlist blank, instruments untouched. I don't even sing in the shower any more. More than my world, music has left my being. I don't feel it inside me anymore. In past postings I have made several mentions to how music affects my person, how my mood is altered or defined by music. And now there is silence. I grow restless with all stations on my radio, my computer, and my repertoire. I've mentally pushed "Stop" on my musical inclinations.
Perhaps that is how I've come to lose myself. The world around me holds no magic, no forgiveness, and without music I have nothing to grasp or relate to. I cannot find gaiety in my days, and therefore I cannot find any satisfaction in who I am. I've lost myself. I cannot distinguish my own thoughts and actions from those around me. I have no definition. I'm not a blank slate, instead more I am a faded slate- the defining features are still somewhat present, but no longer distinguishing who I am, a sort of tribute to who I was.
I'd once thought that losing one's self must be a liberating experience. A second chance, a way to rebuild one's self the way he should be, to discard or add traits and qualities, to sort the good from the bad, to weigh one's components and start anew. Unfortunately, this is not quite the experience I have encountered. Losing myself is possibly one of the most hauntingly tormenting things I've ever experienced. It changes everything, from sleeping habits to dietary choices, even the temperature of the water in my outrageously long showers.
I've always been good at losing things. I routinely misplace my keys, cellular phone, paperwork, books, and occasionally, my sanity. But now I'm starting to lose Things, and these Things matter. Somehow I have the feeling they won't turn up under a sofa cushion or in a drawer.
Monday, October 18, 2010
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