I am trying my hardest to make it all nice and quiet again in my head. I am an idiot waiting for the planet to swallow me whole. My head is a prison, and there seems to be no way to escape all the madness. But for my last magician act, I really would like to escape and disappear forever. It is all getting too much for me right now, and I can feel my body floating all the way down.
This winding, rough river is picking up more and more speed and dragging me along like a water ride with spinning vortexes, waterfalls and endless depths. Along the ride, my body is crashing against the rocks like a rag doll. A gruesome spectacle to behold as I helplessly flail around, trying to catch my breath. Ever since you came back from America, something has been wrong. And you are not being honest about what happened there. And over the last couple of months I have worn myself out too thinly. This feels like the final straw before I completely lose my mind.
I am slowly changing into a nasty, spiteful version of myself that I do not recognize. A version that has run out of patience and gets stuck in a violent rage at the slightest mishap. These months of sleeping horribly on end have finally taken their toll too. So what is the price that I have to pay for all of this? Will I lose some friendships because of my behavior? Will my manager be offering me a one-on-one session to give me some constructive feedback about being too strict? Will I lose my appetite and finally lose those kilos? My mind wanders off into a maze of endless dead ends. And after wandering for hours on end, I finally let go of everything and gave in to nothingness. What will be, will be. I am too tired.
My head opens doors in my mind to any possible way out. First I escape to the woods, where I once wrote bad poetry that I later shamefully burnt on the beach. Afraid of anyone ever finding out about the fact that I wrote them for a boy that would never love me. I escape to my parents’ backyard under the safety of the canopy, as the rain forms a calming melody on a tin roof. I find myself sitting on my toilet with the door open so I can still hear the noise outside in the living room. The television is on, and the stove is warming some soup. Next is the warmth and comfort of my bed in the morning on a day off; my horrible morning breath does not bother anyone here. I appear somewhere in a game world online, riding a pink glittery dragon in the sky. I appear in the back of a dimly lit venue during a concert, waiting for the show to start. I am on my way home, on the train at night with Agnes Obel tunes in my noise-cancelling headphones. I feel my tense shoulders slowly resting again. It’s not the end of the world; there are still escape routes I can take. I can slowly breathe again.
‘Take a deep breath with me,’ you would say. And so I take a deep breath through my nose and I try to straighten my back in such a way that my vertebrae aligns. The cracking of my back makes a noise that sounds quite like stepping on branches in the forest. It groans in displeasure but then feels perfectly fine again. I hold my breath for a moment and think of the smell of morning dew in the forest. Then I slowly breathe out through my mouth. A cloud of the scent of coffee leaves my mouth, and the monsters inside leave my body with it. It’s not nice, I know. This strange state that I am in. And I haven’t always been nice to you lately too. The dread of guilt creeps over me, and I become apologetic. Is it my fault that we are the way we are now?
Apologizing no longer feels like enough. Because the more often you have to apologize, the more it loses its redeeming value. And so I ask for your understanding now. You are with me at a strange moment in my life. A moment in which everything is in constant change. And you know all too well by now what too much change can do for me. I am a simple man, and I like fixed rituals and repetition on a daily basis. But sometimes change is necessary to let go of old pain. To read chapters, finish them and be able to start a new book.
My mind is busy making a new door. It is a new escape route to a safe place of rest. A new way out that I can use after a stressful day. When it has all become too much for a moment. Next to the door hangs a nameplate with our names on it. It is our little house that we share together. Will you wait for me there?
Can we both be honest with each other now?
Martijn Winkel 