I didn’t tell anyone I was going. I simply left. The circumstances surrounding my “disappearance” were simple. It all started when my job kindly requested I didn’t show up anymore. Then seemingly out of the blue, my friends and family began to express concerns for their safety by just my mere presence. Even the local watering hole I’d often turn to when I had nowhere else to go started locking their doors and turning off the lights when I’d come around. How did I become so detached? Was my subconscious pushing for an opportunity to be distant from the rest of the world? Maybe my ubiquity would be better suited elsewhere.
I woke up that Tuesday and suddenly I didn’t feel anything anymore. Not a thing. I was neither fearful nor miserable nor hopeless, and the least concerned about how the rest of the world felt about me. Was I still even alive? You know how some people pinch themselves to see if they are still dreaming? Well, what is an even more significant test to ensure you still exist? Every human being, no matter how disconnected or dire their situation, needs a glimmer of hope and feeling of personal control. I knew only one thing, one experience that no matter how often I’ve experienced, it’s always made me feel alive.
As I rose from bed that morning, it felt like I was in a trance, like my legs were moving for me. It’s the weirdest feeling I’ve ever experienced. Almost mindlessly, I had walked through my living room, out the front door, and somehow ended up straddling my motorcycle, and as I clicked the starter, the familiar vibrations through my hands, arms, chest, and legs began to snap me back into the present. I could literally feel the cells in my body regenerating and the synapses in my brain firing.
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