One day, I fell into a bubble. It wasn’t what I thought it’d look like; bubbles are not as they appear. It was warm and safe, filled to the brim with blankets of security and baubles of seduction. I would sleep and wake in the same bubble for days, maybe weeks or months. I don’t even know, really. I sometimes stumble into thoughts of pricking a hole through the bubble and venturing outside, but I would never stay for long. I would always find a bigger hole to fall into instead—sometimes going right to rock bottom of my bubble—in the form of pills, naked bodies, and endless daydreams.
Sometimes I still wander into that bubble. It changes every time. I wake up with newer methods of distraction and more creative avenues of self-sedation. But every once in awhile, my curiosity takes over—curiosity or self-loathing, either one—and I have to burst the bubble. The biggest drawback to the anatomy of a bubble is you can see right through it. You can see the world and all its possibilities, you see it moving and growing in front of your eyes, but you’re not a part of it. You can’t even touch it.
So I have to get out, it gets too hot in there after awhile. People don’t help all that much, it’s not their fault. They’re all stuck in bubbles of their own. We all have our own demons to fight, after all. They may crawl into your bubble from time to time and even indulge you enough to convince you to stay. You can stay. But take note: it’s only because they’re trying to keep their own bubbles afloat. Bubbles have a habit of dissolving into air when you wear them too thin, you should also take note.
Bursting your own bubble is scary, I admit. There’s the fear of uncertainty, the fear of isolation, the fear of the unknown. But sometimes, if you give yourself enough of a running start, you won’t fall too hard on rocky ground.
Sometimes, you’ll fly.