Stop knocking on my door when I clearly don’t intend to open it up for you any time soon. Repeatedly, incessantly beating it, over and over and over again, it doesn’t increase the chances of me opening up and receiving you like before. This amounts to harassment, the kind of violence it inflicts upon my mind and that swirling vortex of negativity inside me, waiting to be let out, waiting to lash out and spit curses in your face. So, stop. Can’t you see that it’s enough, that it will never be enough, that it’s not working, that the person you’ve been terrorising all night long desperately craves silence and space and an end to all the madness? When it’s time, my doors will reopen. But there’s a storm outside and the pillars of this shipwreck of a house no stronger than the backbones of emaciated men. Don’t you understand? This is all so I can protect you.
Today is one of those days when I don’t feel like talking or having any sort of communication with anybody. I am well aware of this, of its cyclical nature. I go through a week or two of intense sociability, talking non-stop during the time between lunch and dinner till the waiter had to remind that I had not paid for the bill, not minding banter and repeating the story of how my ex and I met for the nth time. I was pumped, I was excited, I was energised by the thought of meeting people, seeing new faces and hearing new stories. It was as though the “me” then was a completely different “me”. I liked it then, the energy, the possibilities and the element of mystery when you first meet a stranger.
But now my mind is telling me to quieten down, that it’s time to recharge. Frankly, there wasn’t any negotiation. I was thrown without warning into a vastly different universe. I simply woke up to a completely different world, a world where the greys and the blues are accentuated while every other colour harshly muted. The fort that was previously absent has been erected over the course of a single night, steadfast and sturdy. My thoughts and my mind became the mort that encircles the fort — murky and unfiltered, a thick barrier that keeps the strangers out.
I don’t think about anything in particular. I space out, I daydream about nothing, I float about in the nothingness that is my thoughts. I like this, too, except when strangers make their attempts to cross the mort and pry into the void and try to impose some nonsensical meaning unto what is meant to be left alone and unexplained.
I am fine. Even when my face is as pale as the colour of my thoughts and my eyes seem to be absently staring at the creases in your forehead as you talk to me, I am fine and I am listening and I am comprehending every single detail you just told me. The only difference is that your words go straight into the swirling vortex of everything and nothing.