Last night I had a dream where I just clung to a mountain top because I was too afraid to climb down it. Later in the dream, or maybe it was earlier, I was in a parking garage and my jeep began driving on its own. Sometimes I would see it pass by, sometimes I couldn’t find it anywhere. I knew a crash was inevitable and eventually it happened.
I woke up without being startled and lay still trying to find meaning. While trying to figure it all out I succumbed to periodic emotional attacks, assaults from a subconscious that used to be on my side but has turned on me in a fit of ravenous hunger, insistent that it consume the better parts of me. It sent phantom pain from a dimension that lives between my skin and the air. Its guilt and it’s tortuous. As nothing, I should feel nothing. Or the price of paralysis should provide a pleasant numbing effect. Yet every part of me aches today. But just how do you bandage a laceration on an arm that no longer exists?
I’m detaching at the seams. The parts of me that I’ve long considered permanent are floating away, not even in the same direction. Without them, I’ve got nothing to move, no prehensile parts to direct. The electro-chemical commands that travel from my brain are directionless now. These used to direct my actions that would, in turn, direct my life. Now they leave my central intelligence harbor and simply shoot into space. Helplessly, I watch myself deconstruct. I’ve become a third party spectator to my own unraveling.
I’m a floating satellite that can’t be located, can’t be rescued.