Aiming

I get so tired of it all. Of pretending. Of always having to come up with something "meaningful" in life, It's exhausting. It's not that I don't get why or how to do it. I feel like I've gotten pretty good at it by now.
But still... Sometimes the role-playing just becomes too much. The pretending makes me sick to my stomach and I need to sit back and breathe. Which is okay, I guess. Except, that's when the thinking starts. And the thinking leads to despair. To that point where aiming seems aimless. Where I don't know  whether to puke, sleep, or just slam my head into the wall repeatedly until pain is the only thing on my mind.

Life’s not a song.

Life isn’t bliss.

Life is just this.

It’s living.

Face of an Injured Panda

Let me paint you a picture. Not literally; that wouldn't do any of us good.

Turn back time, about 8 hours, and let's zoom in on Nørrebronx, Copenhagen - The tough neighborhood. To one of those new concrete buildings in which it takes an army to hang up a fucking picture on the wall. To an apartment on the first floor. Not one of the "real" apartments. No, the small student one crammed in between the other two.

Open the door and you'll find a small redhead in the remains of a bed that broke a few months after purchase, and apparently didn't have a warranty on it. The redhead knows this "bed" well. Endless hours and entire days have been spent there lately, due to painful joints and skin symptoms of the inflammatory bitch of a disease, Sarcoidosis.

Don't let the appearance fool you. This is a 25-year-old woman, despite what the Star Wars band-aid across the cheek and the diaper rash cream all over the face might suggest. The enormous amounts of smeared mascara is the manifestation of modern-day worries. Worries about having plenty of bills to pay but zero income, about having to plan the future without having any faith in it. Stress over the current state of doing nothing, while the risk of dying from atherosclerosis continues to increase.

This is just yet another day. For the redhead too. Yet another uninformative doctor's appointment, a rare but unsuccessful job interview, yet another extreme headache...

Tears on top of a torturous headache is extensively painful, but it is still easier to sleep the pain away than the despair. That one cannot be evaded. It's always there, wanting attention, pushing towards that final point of giving up. Not letting you know how close you are.