Let Go, Only to be Found Again

We each devise our means of escape from the intolerable.

Escapism is treated as a philosophy and abstraction worthy of acute study. Sometimes, it is just solace.

In books, music, travel, dance, movies and flights of fancy – in every piece of fiction that takes you one step away from reality and provides the comfort of illusion, there is peace. Amidst the regrets, disappointments, bitter resentments, overwhelming fears, loss of control and all things that signal our total and utter despair about our life, the sheer comfort of dipping into a world that is entirely new and different becomes desirable. The ache of pleasure so acute when your problems don’t exist, and you can don any shape and form, become a messiah, a hero, or the pauper and believe that the new surroundings also extend to new possibilities.

Escapism is not harmful, it is sometimes necessary. Because you only seek to escape from things, people, circumstances of incidents which trigger something larking and inhibiting, residing deep in your soul. Nothing else prompts that massive urge to withdraw. And only when you withdraw and seek refuge in that cocoon of the invisible, harboring misgivings about your past and future, that you tend to realize the significance of that trigger.

So, while I sink deeper, slowly, and succumb to that drawing cold of that numb feeling, sheltering me from the glaring rays of reality, I also know I am turning away from something that made me afraid.

And that knowledge, makes me realize something much more potent about myself. It helps me understand my denial or conflicts, and what I honestly, truly, hold dear.

So, in stead of wallowing and self-pity, finding comfort in amber liquid or rolled paper, I find myself reading book and book, finding story after story, and having those few songs on ‘repeat’ for the last 72 hours while I learn what I didn’t quite understand, or didn’t wish to acknowledge, as disappointments, because they were, are remain to be, my greatest expectations.



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