Days like today happen. One or two days, of being lost inside your mind, are not a cause for concern. Perhaps a whole week of such days is not a cause for concern. Maybe it’s just a bad day. Maybe it’s just a string of bad days.

When does it become a concern? After a month or a few? Maybe after a year of being in a state of debilitating confusion that feels like never ending white noise blaring over pretty much every moment of life.

I find it hilarious (not really though) that I am talking about days or weeks of confusion as if I’m trying to distract myself from a fact that I’ve been existing in such a state for almost a decade now. Years of running from lies and deceits. Years of convincing self that everything is fine. Fuck fine! Years of screaming that everything is fucking awesome and rad and amazing and heavenly.

When mania dies down a phase of wondering takes place. What the fuck happened? When did it morph into such a shitfest where I am barely functioning? When did I cut out the superhero within? When did I slaughter the innocence and playfulness? When did I become so insanely bitter?

I guess as my body and my mind are experiencing unstoppably ageing – I am getting worse and worse at deflection, dodging, and running away. Or my dreams and aspirations have abandoned me and I allowed dread and defeat replace them.

Perhaps I should stop saying days like this happen and replace it with: years like this happen…

YEARS
plural noun

An unusually long period of time of indefinite length.

The period when something happens or exists.

Age, especially old age.