The door slammed behind me as I walked away, deliberately not running. People notice running, you run from a burning building or a body. Walking implies normalcy, purpose, perhaps even a plan.
My hands curled into fists and I tried to shake the thinking out of my head. Digging around in my pockets I dragged my MP3 player out and plugged the headphones in, hitting shuffle and turning the volume up to ear ringing levels.
As I walked the buildings fell away unnoticed behind me, my eyes were on the floor, chasing concrete to the beat of the noise in my head. My feet found one of the long tracks out of the city and the grey turned to a flattened gravel track edged with green, the shadows of trees and tall nettles dappling the path.
I could feel the twitch of thoughts tugging for attention, buzzing like wasps behind the noise and I closed my eyes for a few steps, walking the straight path listening only to the music, feeling the rhythm of my muscles stretching, the thud of the ground jarring up through my feet and into my body.
I walked like this for hours, eyes closed for a few seconds, then open to the sunlight through the leaves, closed and just feeling the sensation of movement and sound. My eyes were closed as the first patter of rain hit my skin and opening them it felt like I had been walking blind for hours, the sky had turned from blue to grey, the air cooler against my skin.
I quickened my step as the rain became heavier, turning a corner and finding an overpass looming over the path. The bridge was dense and stubborn, standing squat and astride a gathering darkness. I kept my rhythm as I approached, goosebumps skittering across my skin as I walked into the shadows and approached the other side, slowing to a reluctant stop. Above me the heavens rumbled and standing still, watching the rain batter the leaves and bounce from the path, my legs trembled from the sudden immobility. I began to pace, crossing back and forth the width of the shadow, slowly becoming aware that my face was wet from tears and not the rain. Feeling something in my chest clenching with the fear of thought, the fear of self.
The scream came someone I didn't recognise, a person composed from anger and fear, their voice ripping through the shadows and echoing until my throat felt raw. Shouting, raving at the voices in my head, screaming out at no one and everyone, alone in the darkness and hoping for more than an echo in reply. The screams finally fell into silence.
On bloody knees beneath the overpass, beyond my panting breath, I could hear the rain slow and the distant tinny chimes coming from the headphones lying on the floor. In that pocket between the weather and the world, there was an unexpected stillness. A silence between thoughts. A clean ache in my head and heart.
I had outdistanced thought. Somehow I had placed enough distance between me and my brain, that it had become lost in the storm, followed the wrong path and slipped in the mud.
I took a deep shuddering breath and in the silence of not thinking knew I had to run, to put miles between me and it, leave a false trail for it to follow, no breadcrumbs for a safe return to the hollow of my head. And so I ran, from burning building, from body, from truth and pain and loss, out into the woods and across fields, doubling back and onto streets, hoping to lose myself, my thoughts forever in a frantic flee.
I finally slowed, gasping, clutching at the stitch in my side, and I found I recognised a corner, a building here and there. There were the same shops that sold me bread and salt, the faces I did not recognise which seemed so familiar. The life that I lived and yet felt divided from.
There was my home, my haven.
My duplicitous feet had found their own way. Even without direction here I was. What hope had I of out distancing my mind, when my body knew where I would be?
I pulled the keys from my pocket and opened the door, letting it creak shut behind me, shutting out car and road, life and lies. As I stood in the cool darkness I could feel the world catching up with me. My memories and thoughts rushing towards me like a tide, like I was a black hole within terraced suburbia.
I had come home, to all that I was and would ever be.
I steeled myself against the sensation, like preparing to be punched in the gut. Stomach tensed and body hunched, expecting the blow. I had come home and nothing had changed. I was still me.
I was still me.
Unedited and cliched, but it is what it is... A bad day, in a bad week and a walk helped me not think and I considered the idea of actually outdistancing self... However, ultimately you always have to come home, hopefully stronger. I wrote this to clear the air in the empty space between my ears and I've posted it unedited because it fulfilled its function in creation.
We all have miles to go before we sleep, all we can hope for is company along the way, a gentle breeze at our back and something which feels like home in the end.
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