2 min readMar 6, 2022
Photo by Max van den Oetelaar on Unsplash

Enclosed were the four walls and trapped I felt. Day after day, night after night, I just saw the reflection of life through the double-glazed windows.

Life was happening outside of me, while I was locked up in a prison of my own making.

The mirror was not reflecting, but staring. Staring back at me and showing me a broken self. And I cried and I mourned and I raged and I wept the one who I was once were, and I didn’t understand all that I was now.

Until one morning, when the dust settled and it was showed— nothing.

Not in dark sense. The macabre has no business being here.

The nothing translated in an empty page. A page I could not fill with sorrow and tears. Not anymore. The usual word-vomit was absent. I just felt it all, wrote it all, until there was nothing left to show.

Day after day, page after day, it slowly became nothing.

The nothing was felt in a very sneaky way. It wasn’t anything like they show you in the movies.

I didn’t wake up and started to sing the words of joy of our ancestors.

I didn’t suddenly feel ten pounds lighter.

I just…breathed.

Easy as that.

Simple as that.

And it was — everything.

I don’t need to trick my brain anymore into thinking or not thinking. I don’t obsess. I don’t ruminate.

I just am. Strong, bold and fierce. Ready. Awake.

And alive.

Photo by Eyasu Etsub on Unsplash