man. the older i get the more isolated i feel

kind of starting to use this function as a way to shout into the void and risk getting a response. but man. 

there’s something so quiet about aging. it started out loud, maybe, when i turned 18, and then it crescendoed at 19. at 20, i was expecting it to remain that same pace of loud and red hot to the touch; i mean it was like that up until mid june. but now it’s gotten to a point where, i don’t know, maybe it’s so white hot now that it tricks me into feeling cold. like dry ice. 

i feel like i’m in the world’s most terribly executed sensory deprivation chamber ever. it’s supposed to have me feel nothing and i’ve got the blindfold or whatever over my eyes and i’m submerged in water but floating on the top, but i still feel everything. weightlessness is still such a powerful sensation, i don’t know. i can’t tell if it’s grief finally starting to scab over after nearly 8-9 months or what, but damn. 

i’m not walking around feeling like i’m 98% covered in third degree burns anymore, but i guess getting used to not being a human-sized exposed nerve ending takes time. 

entering adulthood is the crack of an eggshell proceeded by the messy spill of the contents, having to be exposed to sweltering heat in order to take a solid form, and being put in charge of operating the stove and manning the spatula all whilst you’re literally the egg goo on the pan. 

it’s sticky, it’s gross, it’s hot, it hurts, it’s lifechanging and monumental and nasty and like you’re preparing yourself to be eaten up by whatever stands you up on the food chain. 

so i guess for now the quiet is welcome. tolerable. this isn’t dante’s ninth circle, after all. it’s just earth.