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Detachment comes in waves for me.  It usually is intertwined with flavors of melancholy.  Like Inside Out, a half blue and half purple feeling.  It is odd, melancholy or detachment, because they feel right.  Familiarity feels like home.   Few can hold on to the highest highs, but that’s something I try to work around, through extending moods.


Detachment is not monotony.  Detachment is a solid, safe feeling.   You can’t fall very far from the first rung of a ladder. There is an element of control to detachment that is not present in monotony. Monotony is relying on little highs or victories, accepting reality in its entirety, risk of stultifying, but detachment is to place aside all feeling; there, in the black hole, is solace and a numbing, which is welcome relief after crashing.  Crashes feel like an eternity.  They’re over so quickly, yet they seem five times longer than they were.  The first responders arrive, but the waiting felt like a lifetime.

I don’t think anger (passive or aggressive) actually bring control or self-esteem, nor irritation, power, but it feels that way.  The feeling is the part that is hard not to find enjoyable.  Somewhere between crashing and detachment, there is a rainbow of humanity, albeit brief – elements of anger and fear, which can be terrifying.  Losing control is always terrifying.  Detachment and melancholy come to ameliorate.  


I have been old enough for a while to know that hope is usually a mirage.  Melancholy or detachment lose impact.  Eventually monotony, loneliness, and benevolence appear to complete the cycle. There on the horizon, a pool in the desert presents itself. Whenever I find a new hope, I try to delay the journey.  I want to stall to discover for the first time, drag my feet so that I can hold hope longer.  A high is more hope than water – not substantial for those who aren’t oriented as well.  For those oriented toward passion, there is a price to pay.  You pay a price either way, dying slowly in monotony or dying quickly in passion – and society looks up to those who can sustain either for longer than normal.

As a kid, I enjoyed the scenes of protagonists in prison.  They achieved so much, and gained clarity.  They emerged better, well-rounded individuals, made the best of a hopeless situation.  I longed to be free as an adult to go and do and say, but in the meantime, I had places to go inside.  There is hope in the dark, but the bright’s hope is returning back home.  There is a lot of beauty in returning inside to build something from nothing.  These are the primary functions of pain: to recalibrate, to know how not to treat others, and to help others feel less alone.

Count of Monte Cristo, learning in prison:  

Joseph, managing and assisting in prison:

Anakin, tinkering in slavery:


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