There are good days and there are bad days. Good or bad, they’re mostly grey.
Life has become a cycle of endless grey days during which your serotonin-drained brain somehow still manages to function. There are good days and there are bad days. Seems like this one is doomed.
You desperately want to be hugged and comforted but also left alone at once.
And as these grey days pass, it’s all numb. Whatever’s still alive, you’d numb it out with wine, pills, meds – anything goes. Anything’s great just as long as it lifts you up just an inch from reality.
And yes, there are some very happy days – when you’ve been good and determined and terrifyingly in control, and during those moments the colours would return – the whole brilliant spectrum, filling the frame until there is almost no grey…
But those days are tricky because you are at your most reckless when you’re happy, when there are no shadows looming over your conscience and your brain is wired with ideas and plans. And so it goes: the night, the fun, the party, the fireworks exploding in the brain as strangers around you build their masterful plans for conquering the Universe.
And it’s so funny and sad how those beautiful plans all crumble in the morning. Now it’s just you in this dusty apartment, floor littered with empty bottles and dirty clothes. All the magic and confidence from the night before are gone, and there’s nothing within these walls but their own empty and hollow presence. All your heroes from last night have slipped and slid away, and it’s like the fairytales you talked and dreamed about had never happened.
There is warm, blindingly-bright sun shining outside, people dressed in t-shirts and dresses, kids laughing, dogs sprinting towards the park, smells of food and fresh flowers seeping into the blue of the skies… But you’re stranded here, in this man-made black hole, with no way out. Like a poor little caged bird, you cast a longing gaze outside – and the window is open but your wings are sprained and soiled with oil. And in this simple metaphor is everything you are and everything you’re not.
Once upon a time, you were talented and strong. Once upon a time, there were worlds at your feet. Once upon a time, nothing was impossible and your dreams were spelled out with the stars in the sky…
Once upon a time.
Late at night, you see the ghosts of the people you never became, shadows of the women you could have been, wandering along the hallways. Haunting, taunting, torturing. And during those restless, stormy nights the spirits of all the ‘if’s and ‘maybe’s and ‘could-and-may-have-been’s are more alive than ever. Those dreams are dead, strangled and buried by you without getting a chance to grow and blossom. And every single one of them is here, at your doorstep, forever vengeful for its death. They are so evil, those failed possibilities.
And by some higher plan – designed by the Devil or maybe by God himself – you crumble to the ground, succumbed to your urges, dehumanised. And you whisper the prayer to God – the one you suddenly remember to believe in, the one you recall only in your darkest hours, hoping he would save you, take you out of here and forgive your sins. And maybe this time he will.
For you truly are sorry, you mean it as you pray to your forgotten God. You promise you’d be good, if only he would ease your pain and make you really, truly happy, once again. But not all wishes can be granted, and God has his hands full with other things.
So you remain in the dark. Waiting for the dawn that will bring a new day.
There are good days and there are bad days. Anything can happen and everything can change. You ought to stay positive – that’s a what they all say.
There are g o o d days
and there are b a d days.
As the clock strikes six in the morning, it’s up to you to make that day right. Split second is often enough.
I still believe that you can make it and, on the good days, you believe it too. And I still wish that you can be happy, once upon a time.
I’m sorry, everyone.
Yes, this blog is a work of fiction but it’s me who has screwed up.