I went to Europe for a time thinking that it would change me for the better, like living on my own would in some way show me I had the power to do so- and for a short while, it seemed like maybe it was that simple. But Europe has been more dynamic than that, more brutal, and more telling. Never in my life have I felt more broken. It came on suddenly, for many reasons I can think of, but the crack-up left me feeling weak and spineless. A homelessness grew in me like Godlessness and suddenly, despite my own two feet holding fast, the very ground on which I imagined my passage felt ripped away.
I think Christopher Mccandless (aka. Alexander Supertramp), of Fairbanks Transit bus #142 fame and eventual demise, put it best. He set out on the road to “kill the false being within”, and I feel in my own way that I have unintentionally and irrevocably done just that. The false being within left at around 6:20 in the morning in a flat in Dublin and festered with the dirty pasta dishes I couldn’t bring myself to do. The false being within deserted on the streets of Paris when I walked under a nearly full moon the hour and a half from the bus stop to my hostel (where I now currently sit in a bunk).
It is only after breaking myself down, cracking-up in full, that I’ve found a semblance of foundation. I just pray that i recognize something of what I left when I come back.