Quicksand

Life showed me that pink is not its colour; it has taught me to be the wise one, the strong one, the one who has to take decisions and be there. It has shown me how wild – in a bad way – the human being can be.

However, during the last few weeks, something cracked. And I have been feeling fear since then. Fear of my own body, fear that I am unable to finish what I have started, fear of the noise, fear of abandonment, fear of the future, fear of boredom, terror towards all the things I left unspoken/ignored.

Last night I dreamt that someone dear was hugging me. No words, no stories, no therapies. I think that all of us are at least two in one, a Steppenwolf and a vulnerable human being, and you see, in my own wilderness, I tried to ignore that feeling (or feelings), to struggle to unchain myself from its grasp. Because I am the one who thinks, not feels. But it was like quicksand. The more you move/speak/think, the more you fall under it.

I wish I were on a top of a mountain, by myself or with the people that I could really choose, hearing only the springs from below and the sounds of nature. I wish I could close my eyes, stop moving, stop being the one in charge, stop working, stop thinking, stop worrying. And I wish I could learn how to breathe – on a top of a mountain, or breaking down all the windows of a house, or in deep quicksand.