Historically, my first instinct when faced with conflict is to retreat.
To run away, to head towards the path of least resistance. Whether that was towards friends with sympathetic ears, far away destinations, novels, psychotropics, or the comfort of my bedroom, it's always a result of that primal, knee-jerk reaction. I would rather spare myself the pain of confrontation, whether towards other people, or myself, than to face it and get hurt - which spirals out into other aspects of my life, naturally.
Today, I once again find myself teetering on the precipice of another nervous breakdown. The writin's scrawled all over the goddam wall; a veritable Cave of Altamira: insomnia, sluggishness, bad skin, crippling anxiety, self-destructive tendencies. I think I was looking for healing in a certain narrative that involved a past bully. Unfortunately for this anti-heroine, I never got the closure I sought in the narrative, because the Contrabeedus is still a Contrabeedus ("I respect you but goddamn, I hate you, ninja!"). Indeed, that Bone of Contention is too big to choke on, let alone swallow. We all know I'm bursting at the seams with empathy, but I've got none to spare for this girl because holding a grudge is one of my less desirable character traits.
Instead of inflicting any more pain unto myself, I'll just take the high road - to the beach. At least I've got science to prove that salt water and sunshine heals everything. Thankful that Liwa has always been a balm for me to revel in Happiness as well as Rock-Bottom Murky Sadness. Thankful too for all the opportunities I can steal to retreat into her sunny, sticky embrace to disconnect from the toxicity, triggers, traps, plasticity and pecking order of Imperial Manila. The sea's always been about restoration for me, anyway.