Cracks

Tiredness has a way of creeping up and wrapping you in a blanket of sadness. When you’re tired, you don’t have the strength to struggle against it and throw it off. You just lie there and feel it seep into your emotions, tinting them blue and twisting them into grotesque shapes. And as it happens, you start to wonder if things are actually always supposed to look that way, but you are in denial about it most of the time because you’ve learnt how to shut out realisations that are too terrible to entertain. Call this kind of dishonesty self-preservation, because what is the point of crucifying one’s self over imponderables? Yet, how much self-delusion can a person live with before they cease to be true themselves and sell-out into a hollow existance? Where is the balance between morbid obsession and unhealthy repression struck?

Interventions Urbaines coloress by Roxana Zegan

After soaring with a sense of invincibility, I’ve opened my eyes to see that I am naked and I have nothing to fall back on. I’m afraid of loneliness, and I’m afraid that I’m making decisions that are governed by fear. I'm afraid of some of my thoughts and feelings right now. I don’t know which I want more right now: to be alone and untouchable, or to sit with a group of people I care about and laugh with abandon.

It feels like I haven’t done either in a while.