I woke up this morning knowing it would have been a sunny day even if my window was still tightly closed. I could taste it in the way the darkness of my room was so comforting, not pressuring me to get up and face the consequences of my actions. I always struggled to come to the world, reborn every time I opened my eyes. And so I thought about the night before, the way my little desk lamp was pointing to the empty white wall, flooding the whole room in another kind of reddish light.
The same I’m looking at right now while I’m trying to make peace with my emotions.
The truth is that not a day passes without me thinking about Gregor Samsa.
Waking up like every other morning just feeling weird but not being able to understand what’s happening to you.
Are you still you? Are you the same person that turned off the light on the nightstand a few hours ago?
Why am I suddenly struggling with this sense of inadequacy?
Why are my hands heavy, why does my back hurt? I’m not hungover from last night.
Still something in you is different.
Poor Gregor, he didn’t have the time to think about what was happening to him. He was changing and nothing about this change was visible before it started to happen.
This is what you experience when you finally become an adult. When the weight of your anxiety is starting to taste like you’re wasting your life. Your mind can’t process whatever happened. The fear of being left behind. The fear of losing your mom. Of losing your mind.
Gregor is me but he’s also everyone.
The darkness of the room is still the only thing that prevents you from facing the atrocity of your reflection in the mirror. You’re another.
You’re not who you used to be. Life made you an insect.
Darkness allows you to delay the turning point. Being an artist can help you feel better or worse, it depends on how in touch you are with yourself.
It’s the metamorphosis of life.
It’s being one or no one. Forget the past, leave it all behind. Forget the way you used to be human, in different days that now seemed to be better but then seemed to be hell. Tricky mind.
How your life is constantly changing. Family roots and loneliness. This desperation has to come to an end.
They kept telling me this is the real life, but while I’m stuck on my back unable to leave my bed, I don’t want to surrender to the idea that they’re right.
That the pain I’m experiencing is just another form of the ordinary life.
When I finally opened the window, it was a sunny day.
