Between worlds

I woke up drunk, not in the normal sense though—

No alcohol had passed my lips, only diet Pepsi and ice chips serving as my dinner.

Yet a distinct intoxication clouded my mind,as if I'd been to another dimension for the night;a dimension that feels deeper, more vibrant, more real than this waking world of muted sensations.

Yet still connected to this one through an invisible string—

The paradox of being a light sleeper while simultaneously being tugged to whatever waited for me on the other end.

A foot in each world, belonging fully to neither.

Woke up STARVING and took a bite of meat then slept some more...

My body demanding substance after traveling between realms.

All I know is that for the duration of the night

I was having fun being by the beach— 

Water bodies have been my safe space ever since I was a baby, connected to the water in such a primal way that even my subconscious seeks its shores, finding in waves and depths the comfort– this solid world cannot provide.

Then waking up to the solid cruel truth, with a mind that's tired of thinking and a body that's tired of remembering. Reality landing with the weight of stones.

I actually feed that body something, it felt weird—got so used to the feeling of emptiness that having enough food feels uncomfortable... Fullness becoming a foreign language, my stomach confused by its own satisfaction. 

It's like I'm punishing myself for what has been done, starvation as atonement for sins I never committed. I know it was never my fault but everything that happened—

The shame, the shaming, the criticism, and the hurt have carved themselves into my bones. I wanna just go back in time and take that little creature that was once myself and hug her so tight, shield her from what's coming with my own body.

But I know for a fact— that if she saw me she would run straight to my arms, without hesitation, without question, and that's comforting enough...

This knowing, this certainty of self-recognition.

And I also know that in my whole family I'm the one that the kids seek refuge in her arms.

It's healing in a way... seeing the pure untouched souls being safe enough in my presence—

Their instincts recognizing what adults cannot see.

Fake sleeping in gatherings so I can carry them and tuck them in my bed; their theatrical stillness betrayed by fluttering eyelids, or them sneaking in the middle of the night and snuggling in my bed little bodies curling against mine like quotation marks.

It's all healing. Each tiny hand reaching for mine in the dark mends something broken long ago.

And although I know all this, I know to get over everything It's gonna take a while,

No shortcuts through this labyrinth of memory. At least till I find a safe space similar to the one kids run to—

Can't run into my own arms, can't become my own sanctuary.

Not yet.