Unreached

You wake up empowered, your hyperactive mind darting, bullet like; you are a machine in these early hours, the self-transcending what it means to be human. Your skin, once paltry and pale is now a shimmering bronze, inspired to accomplish, to conquer. Of course, you will return to your elite liberal arts college in the spring. That is an afterthought. You will conquer it the same way you will conquer today, you will create great art, write imaginative, perfect papers. You will be adored by your professors. You will share seamless, fulfilling relationships with your peers. But deep down, they will know they are lucky that you are gracing them with your presence. You are above them, you know you are. You have to be. You are in an invisible frenzy at this point, appearing no different from your normal self, but your mind is a bubbling cacophony, and you know you need some way to harness the overflowing euphoria. It feels like a wiser part of yourself, perhaps your true self is pleading with the machine to take a break. You know you have to run.

You run seven miles at your local gyms track, the racing thoughts growing slightly dimmer each minute you spend there. You know you are treating your body well, but after the seven miles, the machine is empty. You have to feel good, though, you have just worked very hard, pushed your physical body to its limit, and anticipate the rush of dopamine you will get for treating your body so well. Now you walk. The thoughts have changed, miraculously. You know you are not well. Of course, you can't return to that school, the machine was distorting everything. You'll have to get a job here, keep going therapy, keep taking your medication. Be patient. You feel what you believe to be ok, at this point. You are walking at a brisk pace, listening to calmer music, and you know that the machine will be off for a while. Minutes pass as you continue to round the track. You are the only person in this entire goddamn gym under the age of fifty. The track is elevated above the main gym area, where you see a morbidly obese man struggle with an exercise bike. You stare at him as you round the track, eyes fixed. Suddenly, they all look like zoo animals. You begin to analyze each person, as cerebrally as you can. You don't know why you willingly do this. You wish you knew anything for certain.

You feel your eyes start to water. This has been happening a lot lately. If the machine is off you often feel on the verge of tears. You wonder if it's all worth it. Why do you come here to run, if your fate is predetermined? Time will dictate what the machine can't. You feel like a pawn; like a gerbil in one of those exercise wheels. You think about returning to your elite liberal arts college. You remember how alienated you felt there, how the eyes of each passerby seemed fixed solely on you. You remember the unreachable standards you set for yourself, the way your heart seemed to stop, as you felt encroaching terror sitting in class. You know you are sick. You want to drown, but fear that may lead to a place colder than this. You drive home.

Intellectually, you understand most of your thoughts are totally warped and your perception of most anything is extremely ungrounded because of how sick you are. But you are so vulnerable to the hot whips of this mind liquidating illness that it seems impossible to escape. During the good parts of the day, right after you take your meds, you can have helpful thoughts. You know that life must be simplified for the time being. You know you are not a conqueror, and you know that you are not a sack of s**t. You feel optimistic, but not in the chaotic shrieking way you do when the machine is running things. You have to try to capture this moment, the delicate caress of transient sanity. You know one day the machine will be wrestled down, and your extremely depressed self will be lifted up. A self-divided is a terrifying thing. You are in a constant state of self-analysis whenever you decide anything. Is this the machine, is this depressed me, or is this me. Who am I? You are a stranger to yourself. You crave to be whole. You crave to be someone who can live a more gentle, wholesome life. You open your bedroom window and stick your head out. You don't know what you are looking for, but the frigid air strikes your face, and you feel rebooted. That feels ok.