Posted in Journal

Tints of Darkness

I feel the darkness creeping in, getting closer. I see the corners of my rainbow show a tint of black, spreading slowly like mould. I open my eyes wide and try to breathe away the ghosts looming in my head, whispering phrases from another time. I need to stay calm. I need to find a way to get through this.

I’ve identified a trigger and am taking definitive steps at getting it out of my system. Another month.. and that’s it. But what if these feelings linger beyond the deadlines and I end up carrying their weight like a tombstone of memories I hold within my heart, up until the day I die? I feel like the mid-life crisis is simply a reaction to your children growing up and leaving you, the end of a long project that leaves you feeling empty, and maybe my quarter life crisis would also be arising from a similar sense of bewilderment, at not having a pet project to give my life meaning. But the very thought turns in my head and I cringe at the idea of having children simply for want of something else to do, for want of something better going on. And it’s insane, because I DO have a lot going on, I have too much going on, and maybe that too is a problem – that I’m so drowned in commitments and deadlines and half-dead ideas that I find them around my head like dead logs in water. I try to hold on to them to keep me afloat, but all I end up doing is bringing them down with me or losing them to the current and nearly choking to death in the process.

I thought I was through with it, this phase of having enough of it all. I thought I was happy again, and forever this time. But forever only exists at the end of fairytales, and perhaps the way all fairytales end with forever should have served as a premonition that forevers too do end. I hate waiting for messages that never arrive; seeking an illusion that seems to have broken into irreparable pieces in the bat of an eye. Death whispers sweet nothings when no one is looking, and I pretend I’m not listening, but on a drunken night with all inhibitions down, I found myself screaming his intent to a startled crowd.

I should be more careful. I need to tread lightly. I need to spray myself with sunrays so bright they melt these fantasies away; I need a thousand red candles to seal my scars shut; I need silver sparkles to protect my cloak.

Perhaps you could send some my way?

Author:

A wayward thinker hiding behind the facade of necessary courtesies

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