There it was again, the feeling lifted. For a while it felt like the bell jar was closing. It’s like being stuck in a loop without knowing how you got there, and you try to break free but it’s your body and mind that fails you. You’re stuck there on the floor, and it’s quicksand.
Sometimes the weight is lifted by laughter, sometimes by a walk, a show, a song, a shower; sometimes it takes a day, sometimes a week, most of the times, more. The battle is also a loop. And when you finally find clarity, it dawns on you, like the first sunlight after days of storm. It is hopeful.
When everything is loud, all I long for is the quiet corner. But I fear my thoughts, I don’t visit them frequently, they tend to be too loud, too intense, and once I face them, they need time to simmer, to cool down.
I have avoided romance, denied myself even the thought of it, turned it down and told the world it’s unessential.
I’ve worked and waited on my conditions. Love was an award, and I had to pass all the tests, all the levels, no matter how hard and high I made them. When I grew tired, I purged myself of it - I didn’t need it anyways. Not because I was afraid of how I looked, but because I was afraid of what lay underneath and beyond. I was afraid of failing my standards as well as theirs, I was afraid of my precious walls shattering, I was afraid of eyes and whispering, of my emotions, of what I could do, of who I could hurt, and many other things I’ve conjured into my mind.
I am different like this; lock me up and one day I’d stop longing for freedom. Then it would seem that the only world I know was the one created for me, created in four corners, confined in gold. I would accept this, and much less because I have been dirt many many times before. I tell myself, I was lower then, I did it then, I could do it again. When I was my best, fear made me cut off my wings to stay grounded. I kept thinking then, maybe I should’ve flown down rather than disabling myself. Rested for a while, maybe.
This is why there’s quicksand, because now I am walking, now I am crawling. Wingless, it would take much longer, but it‘s the journey, they say, it’s the fight. In wars the one who does not advance still protects, right? I’ll take guard. I’ll move forward. In denying myself of the world, I have also denied the world of me.