I closed my eyes for a second and there I was, standing in an empty, bare room. A canvas that had suddenly been occupied by streams and films of my incoherent thoughts and once-lived dreams. Everything was whirling and swirling in front of me like a labyrinth that hindered my breath and burdened my heart into a perplexed collapse from the overwhelmingness of it all. Everything that I had ever thought of was intimidatingly making its way on the walls of a room that was now a cage I couldn’t escape from. I was trapped. You don’t quite realise how much you’ve lived until you see yourself on the floor and almost drowning in the chaos that your own life has brought upon you. I yearned for someone to shake me back to reality, for it was the first time that I had ever sought an escape through the real world. All my life I had rendered the world we live in as lethal and had found safety in my own head. Until it suddenly backfired. I found myself slowly integrating in the colours of the walls of the room, unnoticeably disappearing with the thoughts that have forever been consuming me. Is it true? Is it true that one can lose himself by no one other than himself? Suicide can come in all forms and intensities and what I was witnessing was a vanquish of my very existence. In attempt to fight back, I tried to voluntarily take over. I failed, I tried again. I failed. I was still a background of a background of something that has become a lot bigger than myself. I have empowered my thoughts so vastly that they have succeeded to take the lead. I finally became silenced. And as soon as I gave in to my silencing, I found my eyes opening to the world again. My eyes glittered with relief that I am no longer bullied by the hideaway that I had once created to entertain me, to shelter me, to protect me. But the much-anticipated breeze of anxiety had again started to take over and there . . . I was afraid of both worlds again. I had no where to run. I had no where to hide. I was haunted. And before I could admit to myself that this is it, that this is everyone’s biggest fear, I let the melancholy burst into salt-water streaming down from my eyes and washing away all the hopes that had once given me a second chance for a life I never wanted.


About moesolitary

Mixed up between what I want to be and what I think I want to be. For now, I believe I want to be a writer. I belong between words and book. Thoughts linger as poems. I'm a proud Egyptian.

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