It always intrigues me when people say that they found themselves in college; that there, they realized their 'true potential' and found their passion in life. They call it the best years of their life, the golden era where your only concerns are where the party's at this weekend and not bombing your classes. Experimentation, realization, desperation. You name it, these people claim college has it. I'd like to think it does too. I'd like to imagine that college is the closet door to the Narnia of my life. That beyond those heavy wooden doors lies a magical kingdom where life makes sense and happiness comes as much as the free air.
But I can't seem to find the passageway. I can't seem to find my way through the cloak of moth balls and heavy fur coats to emerge in the sunshine of paradise. I stepped into college and instead of finding my way out, I've gotten locked inside. I'm suffocating in my own carbon dioxide. Or is it monoxide? Either way, I'm dying. Slowly but surely. And for some reason, instead of fighting for my life I feel like giving up... And it's scaring the shit out of me.
I don't know what I want, who I want, where I want to be. My wants have gone on without me, leaving me to fight of the what's by myself.
What if I fail out of school?
What if I don't find my passion?
What if I do die alone?
What if, what if. That little phrase is the villain in this soap, with no hero in sight. My Superman hasn't shown up, and I still haven't figured out exactly why I continue to wait on the bag of shit. He is a boy after all.
I'm stuck, locked in my own theoretical closet. Not the kind that keeps the gay boys in, but the closet of indecision. The ever lurking question floats above my head in the cobwebs, breathing its repetition in my ear as it blows by. "What to do?" it says, tickling the back of my ear as it swirls around, freed by it's own laziness to not care where it ends up. It's job is to follow me forever, and haunt my thoughts like my mother. (But I love my mother, not this thing)
Is it me? Am I one of those few that are destined to fail, to be one of the statistics? I look around this house of girls and wonder, is it me? Am I the one destined to fall, to open the doors for the others? Am I the one to actually move to Canada, recording my thoughts privately in deep essays, only to be discovered upon my death at 38 of a fatal heart attack? Am I the one destined to give up what others dream about, to make a path that has never been taken before? To be alone, but achieve more then anyone could have ever dreamed for me? Or am I the one to become the 'dream', married with five kids, a picket fence, two dogs and nothing to call my own as an accomplishment?
I'm being taken down alive, unwilling but nowhere else to go. I want to be in Narnia, but how am I supposed to do it when everything's a mess? How do I decide what the choice is, the chance to make? I'd follow my gut but it's let me down lately.
I want to find myself, but it sure has found a damn good hiding spot.
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