Last night I went out on the terrace for a moment, the air was quite cold, by now the summer heat has given way to lower temperatures and October is fast approaching.
Lately I've been feeling the weight of problems, sometimes I find it unbearable to be alone and think about the 'future', I feel the anxiety of all those powerful 'how will I do it? Every now and then I get panic attacks and then I breathe deeply, swallowing: I feel the need to laugh, strong, mixed with the great desire to break everything.
I don't cry. I don't know why. I can be moved, but I don't know how to cry anymore, I don't know where my tears have gone, by dint of reacting I have lost the ability to do so. Yet I am fragile, as thin as crystal, still small and lost as a child. I know that somewhere, beyond the thick armor, in an elsewhere hidden inside me, I still have a shred of tenderness along with a dim little hope.
I hide them from awareness, in a trivial miserable attempt to believe that someone else will find them, treasure them, and truly love me. At the end of the day, illusion is still a drug and despite my detoxification, the desire to love is still there.
It's only ever misdirected.
[2019©Yelena b.]
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