Awaken my spirit and feed my starving soul

I ignore my imagination, daily. I pretend that I am a thinking, rational, logical being, and I force myself to focus on the facts. I make my meager way through each day, and I function with the other zombie-like people who now inhabit planet earth. I put my clothes on, I make lists of chores, I walk in-time with the students on campus, and we all look the same and we all do the same things. We listen to our ipods or chat about class with a fellow student, and we all wear black coats and tall boots with similar emblems sewn into each item of clothing. We pull out our best technological devices in class to show everyone that we are serious about our futures; we are so serious that we spent $500 on a tiny computer in place of our better computer we keep at home.

The homogenous mixture of people and things leaves an emptiness inside me. I don't notice my own emptiness until the end of the day. When I take off my outfit from the day, when I unload my books, and I look at the space I call my room, a space of eclectic nicknacks from my life's journey, books that I have read and read over again, journals with blank pages, my piano, my Bible, pictures of my family, I miss them; I begin to see my own individuality as well as the pieces of myself that connect me to a bigger world. The starch contrast between my day lived in the midst of emotionless, mindless, soulless individuals, and the end of the day when I see myself and others in terms that are beyond our existence in a material, pleasure driven world. I reflect on the boy behind the cash register, who smiled as I tried to pay for a water and shook his head. The light touch sadness that I could see as he turned to perform menial tasks deemed important by a distant manager. I remember the Christine from my biology class. She shared a desk with me, that we made into a table. She had everything around her in perfect place. She was organized and well spoken, but I could see her passion and desire bubbling beneath her well placed smile and her perfectly curled hair. I could see her hunger.

I then begin think of my own role in this world and I see that with every cell in my body I hate the things that I do. I hate being apart of the group that over consumes, puts on a pretty show, lives on the surface level of life, and never becomes aware of the meaning behind their actions and their ways. I hate it because I know there is more. I know there is more and I am missing it. I am ignoring it. I am attempting to become what everyone around me says I should be because I want their acceptance and I want their companionship. The truth is, I become their slave by adhering to their every wants. They may or may not recognize this, but somewhere inside me I feel it. I feel caged. I feel trapped. I feel hopelessly lost in the gray.

The pulling between what I know and what I do, is wearing thin the line between sane and crazy. I can feel myself beginning to retreat. I can see myself as I run out doors that lead me nowhere. I can feel a wild stirring inside. I feel like a cornered animal looking for any way of escape, but realizing that there is no escape. This is the end of every day for me. There is probably much more to my end of the day adventures, but this will suffice for now.

What these thoughts and feelings urge me toward are unhealthy coping mechanisms. I think that if I can just push the feelings and thoughts away by purging, or exercising, I will be okay for a bit. I'll be able to keep going. I'll use my destructive coping mechanisms until I become tired and beaten, and then I'll venture to the warmth of my comforter and dream.