0 A cozy hell

Sometimes I feel like burning the house down, turning the tables, shattering the glasses and the windows, tearing the paintings and the curtains… a broken environment to make a pair with the broken things inside of me. Every single thing slightly out of place. Sometimes I feel this is the biggest wish of my heart.

Since the day the pressure was to high to contain, the day I blew up, this external layer broke apart. A vibration coming from the corners, a trembling coming from the inside of my guts, teeth grinding, my skin cracking little by little as an eggshell. Now, with the cracks, I can never be full again. Nothing seems to linger. Happiness or joy, sadness or despair. They leak from me as soon as I can sense them. I feel like wandering. Not through the world, because I’m so afraid of it. I’m wandering through feelings, through thoughts and conclusions. My mind never seems to rest.

I take my pills, I see a therapist, but sometimes it’s just too strong to fight back. The limits are everywhere. Will I be able to cross the street? I ask myself every time.

That’s the thing with mental illnesses. You might even play it cool, but they’re always there, a monster under the bed. The curious thing is that in the darkest corners of your mind, you feel like it’s the safest place where you can be. There’s this urgent wish of embracing the fear, because it frees you from the chaos that your brain can be when you go outside. Beside the monster, you are not reckless, you are not exposed, you are safe.

I feel its claws grabbing me by the wrists, speaking softly to my ears, pulling me down whenever I dare living my life as it did not exist. It’s warm and sticky, it’s quicksand.

They say there’s life after it. They say it will be gone. They say it will not last forever.

I’m kind of sorry I’m gonna have to say goodbye to my monster someday. It watches me in my sleep, holds my hand when I’m too shaken to go on, whispers in my ears it’s O.K. if I want to go home. Tough love.

I promise I will remember you. And I promise that… maybe… in the cloudy days I might open the door if you come to pay me a visit.

But we are doomed. And you should go. Or maybe you should stay and let me go. Don’t make me scream. Don’t make me run. Don’t make me hurt you. Because you and I… we are one and the same.