I’ve always been afraid of darkness, it never began and it never ended; when I came here, this fear was waiting for me. My way to cope with darkness was by creating more darkness — hiding under the blanket, putting it over my head, and waiting to fall asleep.
When keeping up with the wounded world, I hid even deeper under the blanket, but lately, when the pain has become unbearable — I’ve been pulling the blanket from my head and looking at the shadows on the wall.
“Stop putting the blanket over your head. You need oxygen” My mom’s words suddenly come back to me. I haven’t heard them in a while; I keep telling her I am not doing it anymore. Was this really the reason I couldn’t bear the pain under the blanket? Because I was afraid to walk away, thinking the pain wouldn’t be anymore when I came back?
However, staying in a deeper darkness feels like staying at the same level with the pain. I can’t go deeper. I thought that was the rock-bottom, but I was only falling.
When I hit the ground, I started searching for air. That’s what my instinct does — it tells me to survive. But pain isn’t a cage from which I can escape; pain is the utopic world I made up for myself, where I am state of being became comforting and when happiness hurts more than sadness. When I taste real pain, hurt isn’t the sweetness of my comfort candy anymore’ it’s the rottenness between my teeth, there were no matter what I feel it with, it struggles.
I’ve forgotten the taste of oxygen long ago and my soul now wonders the heavy streets of the night in search of it. My blanket reveals half of my body, but my legs are still covered by it. Maybe I still haven’t reached the rock-bottom. Maybe I still have more to suffer. Maybe I still have time to save myself.
