That day didn't seem particularly sad or unfortunate, but it pissed me off anyhow. It pissed me off because it reminded me of every other day. It had all the same mundane qualities that made me want to tear my hair out. It ate away ate me like ants on a decaying corpse. I didn't feel inspired or depressed, just stupefied. I didn't want anyone to relate to me, because I didn't care. I couldn't be bothered by more friends or more time with family. There was just a sense of boredom that came with my existence that I felt I couldn't escape. Deep inside I knew that escaping was the only possibility of keeping me alive. I couldn't go much longer in this complacent matrix. I wanted out.
My therapist was a tall blonde, with a short straight haircut. She had thin lips and big eyes, as if she spent most of her time shocked at her clients, and part of the time disappointed. I could hardly answer her questions at times because she would just look at me with such a strained sense of confusion. Was I her only patient? I thought to myself.
"So why don't you just escape?", she said as she twirled her hair like she was flirting with a high school quarterback. I'll admit that I didn't quite know what to say. It woke me up though. Even after all the coffee I had that morning, I felt sluggish until she asked that question. For some reason I felt strangely offended. I had thought of this question countless times before, yet when she said it out loud, it sounded foreign.
"And where would I escape to?" I said trying to act as if her forwardness hadn't bothered me at all. I could see her eyes getting thinner as she tried to read how I reacted to her question. She was very obvious about it, and so it took her a while to compose herself and answer.
"Anywhere you want!", she exclaimed acting like a teenager all caught up in the moment. She was either very youthful or just immature, I hadn't decided yet.
The session ended quite quickly after she couldn't get something that she wanted from me. Her wide expressive eyes began fade, as her eyelids began to droop. She didn't look excited anymore, just disappointed. I wasn't at all bothered by this. I began think of the possibilities. I went over the details of my life with a fine tooth comb. I didn't feel very proud, or nostalgic. I was more excited flipping through a magazine. All I could think about were the vivid images of living: Surfing, meditating, hiking, diving off cliffs. I didn't want to be a tourist, I wanted to be completely integrated. I wanted to be free.