Nothing is real in the summer

Nothing is real in the summer. The way the heat rises off the pavement until you see squiggly distortments as you go on about your day never sat well with me. Why do I have to continue with life instead of staying put with the drone of the AC to console me and my woes? It was easier in a way when I was still a kid. Stuck at home during summer break while my parents worked, I had nothing but time to try and figure out who I was and what I could be, but now I have to just keep going. I've felt disconnected from myself and what I look like and who I am for months now. During New Year's Eve, I remember the cold-recovering me that was laying under the table fifteen minutes from midnight wishing to leave my reality in exchange for something new. I should have been more specific because now everything's different, but not miraculous. I quit Zoloft cold turkey and the serotonin syndrome consequences have been more than I've endured over the many years of playing on-and-off with such a gross, numbing drug. I noticed this first when I was in Seoul for a week after promising myself Lasik eye surgery in exchange for a piece of my savings and despite knowing that I would be blinded for most of my stay, I thought I would stumble into a soulmate upon chance. Even after all that I endured the past three years, I'm still a wounded, hopeless romantic. I didn't find love at all this year. I thought I had some chances a few times, but I knew it was just me being haunted by my delusions. I've been met with clarity, but so far my manufactured serotonin comedown has just been restless discomfort. I keep telling myself it's just a product of recovery, withdrawal, and the heat and that it will all be beautiful epiphanies when I least expect it. But the sun taunts me. It's important to note that I've always felt reluctant to melt alongside the summer months. I've never been a fan of feeling sticky and wondering what sunlight could feel like before it starts burning my skin ever since I was a kid and used delusions to console me. Maybe my friend Mahima is right, that my delusion is my charm. Then maybe it's okay that nothing is real in the summer because I have the fall, the winter, the spring, the rest of my life, to come back down to earth again.