Home Is Where I Mattered

I think we got time wrong.

I think we got time wrong because in that moment I stood still yet felt the entirety of my existence, pour in and out of me, in and out. I think we got time wrong because this doesn’t seem to pass and because everything that supposedly did pass is back as I hold, rather cling, on to it.

I know we’re moving in space but I can really feel the space moving in me. My mind is beginning to spiral and it feels as if I’m no longer here. They said it would feel amazing, they said it would be exhilarating and that my problems would feel insignificant. But my problems feel non-existent, and so do I. 

This is terrifying, but I can’t feel the fear. Terrifying, but I don’t know if this stillness inside of me is numbness or acceptance. Is it acceptance if you don’t have a choice? Do I want that choice? Why are we traveling so fast in something that’s not going anywhere, are we going anywhere? Suddenly there is no destination, just a marker for when to stop. And I’m tired.

This is not a story, because I’m starting to doubt those really exist. I’m starting to doubt the premise that there’s a beginning, middle and end, I’m starting to think that was all a dream, that the concept of time was nothing but a solace, a deceptive shield from the stillness of everything.

I am not a character. I am a chemical combination. I am a consequence of all that has happened to me. 

So I just stand here- observing. The blue and the green and the white, how they blend together, how it’s all real, how it’s alive. The dark background, the twinkling stars- how it’s all so beautiful, how I feel like a child. 

I stand there and observe, the limitations of my observation, how my body feels like a computer going into overdrive. All the emotion comes and goes in waves, giving my senses a brief moment to recover before I am thrust back into reality again. 

I feel. And then I don’t. I feel. And then I don’t. I feel. And then I don’t.

My eyes blink in unison with this rhythm. It’s like I’m here and then I’m not. 

Here. And then I’m not. Here. And then I’m not. 

My heart is beating loud and I can feel it in every part of my body, breathing is difficult so I say the words.

Breathe in. And out. In. And out. In. And out. In. And Out.

I need the rhythm to bring me back to life.

Suddenly I adjust to a different rhythm: movement. Us, moving, in orbit, alongside the Earth. 

I no longer hold back the tears. 

I don’t care if I’m not real. I don’t care if I don’t matter.

I just care about what lies in front of me and what it represents.

———

I don’t know how long it’s been now but I am still glued to that window. 

My colleague pats my back, gently.

“All first-timers have the same expression.” He teases, expecting me to smile back.

“Don’t worry you’ll get used to it.” He reassures, thinking it will work the second time. 

It doesn’t. 

Eventually I am left alone. My colleagues think I will recover and return to normal. They think I just need some time. How I wish I had some time. How I wish, that I could hold it in my hands. 

———

They need me to help. They need me to do my job. But I can’t. I try to lie down. But my body is disoriented, I don’t feel like I’m lying down, even when I am. I can’t feel my arms, or my legs, I thought weightlessness was meant to feel liberating, but I just feel lost. I don’t feel whole anymore. I feel like I never did.

I feel like I am melting, they tell me that I’m not. My body disagrees. My mind feels conflicted. 

I miss experiencing weight, and pressure, like something wanted me closer. 

I miss the time when my head felt light, and not my body.

The light is inconsistent. I sleep a sleepless sleep. 

———

I experience flashbacks in my brief moments of consciousness. 

My earliest memory plays on repeat in my mind. Glancing, observing, staring- at the night sky, before being told to return back inside. I think it was the limitlessness that inspired me the most, I think it made me feel like I was a part of something bigger than myself. I think it made me feel like I could be anything. I always wanted to escape, but I assigned infinite meaning to something that was infinite in every other way. 

I wanted to escape my circumstances but I think I just escaped all sense of reality.

They tell me to block it out. They tell me I’ll get used to it. But everything I know has just shattered into pieces and I don’t think I can go back. 

They don’t know why I’m reacting this way. They thought I would be happy. They thought this was my lifelong dream. 

But nothing makes sense anymore and no one else can see it. 

And I, desperately, just want to return to the space inside my mind, the one I pictured before I witnessed this, before I left. And I, just want to be lost inside my mind, so I’m not lost out here.

———

I’ve been thinking a lot about dreams, about how they’re used to escape our surroundings. Maybe we need to want things- to move, to live, to feel like we’re doing something. I don’t want anything anymore. They give you too much hope at school. And I just want to go home. 

Home, that is where I mattered. Home, that is all that matters now. 

We are so lucky to not exist alone. 

I used to see the Earth as a starting point. I used to view it as the place to begin a journey into discovery, one that featured exiting its confinements. But I was never confined there. 

I now see it for what it is: a refuge, from the paradox of existence. 

I wish I hadn’t wasted it.