Reality seems to break apart everywhere. Notions like "constant," and "absolute" began to seem laughable, though you look back at them as lost lovers. You wanted to hold them in your arms and keep them inside yourself. Without any notion of constance of yourself, your being seems to be everywhere and nowhere at once. You can't tell yourself apart from others. If your girlfriend has a nose surgery, you're careful not to touch your own nose. You can't tell the difference between a ladybug and a monster. You have intense paranoia at one occasion that you fear something even worse on the horizon- like schizophrenia. So you cling to your lost lovers, begging them to forgive you. You'll do anything for them. Of course they'll take you back.

The universe that felt like a Hellish vertigo reconstructs itself into a sharpened, accurate, sane world. Safety. You're relationships with acquaintances is acceptable. You work hard. You eat well. Work out. Study well. Life is easy and graspable... until you remember why you left those constraining hookers in the first place.

The books you don't have to study are unread. Poetry has no immersion anymore. You're less able to feel for people. Everything you do must be "productive," must have some sort of end. You're dull. And so is your life.

You just want to leave again. Be able to play and create. Be able to enjoy the world.
Where do you go?