White Space (66/90)

I’m feeling the withdrawal happen.

Right now, as I type this I’m thinking of the little nooks and crannies where I’ll spend my week. Away from everyone. There, alone, I’ll feel like myself again. At last.

It’s an unsettling acknowledgment for me to come to: The thing that I’ve cursed for as long as I can remember is the very thing that I’m craving now.

Since I started this blog, seven months and 90 posts ago, it has bled of loneliness (especially here, here and here.) What I thought was the result of too much time spent alone, sitting in little nooks and crannies, away from everyone.

***

But what I’ve found over the past several weeks without nearly any alone time is that this quiet emptiness is a part of me, rather than a condition that can be cured with company, as I’d believed.

It’s something that I need for my sanity.

I’ve found myself being someone that I hate, agitated by the littlest things. Surrounded by people, drifting off into my own world. There’s just been way too much noise lately. I’ve been unable to function, unable to feel, unable to think.

I pride myself on being acutely tuned in, all the time. And it’s gotten so loud that I’ve been forced to tune out.

I need the quietness, the white space.

***

This weekend I’ve been dreaming of The Beach House; the one that doesn’t yet exist outside of my imagination. But, it’s as real as any of my other dreams that are far off and laughable.

It is serene, quite and empty. The are floor to ceiling windows, the rooms are white with blue accents. It is mine, and mine alone. It is of minimal design and decoration.

It is just enough of what I need and all of what I want.

It may seem strange that I’m dreaming of this place, this imaginary space that I’ve never seen. It may seem juvenile, even. And it probably is, but my admittance of that fact doesn’t lessen my longing for it. Not one bit.

I haven’t been able to figure out why I’ve been so drained lately. Absolutely wiped out, with no real reason. But, I think I just need my time. My space.

That quiet emptiness that makes me feel sane.