I was a passenger of life in a chapter of sadness that I used to live.
It was a difficult time for me. It was nothing compared to the life issues of others, but for me it nearly destroyed me.
After all, we all have our demons and mine were strong, so strong that even today they haunt me with such anger.
After years of ignoring them, I can understand why they come back with a vengeance.
I fought back by staying to myself.
I traveled different lands and learned different ideas, I sat down and listened to all kinds of stories that saved me.
Today I felt like I was a passenger again, but not to life. I was a passenger to a routine.
I saw myself stand up from my desk and walk to the water fountain and then back.
My steps felt robotic, as though I was built for this.
My turns were calculated, my number of sips of water were calculated, my fucking bathroom breaks were calculated.
Every part of me felt machine-like.
I no longer had control. I was trapped until the clock struck 6 pm and even then, the taste of freedom felt bitter.
I was invisible. An empty seat, I wasn’t unique. I was part of the lives that millions of others live each day. I was part of the 9-5.
At the end of each day, I would ask myself… What am I doing wrong?
A question many of us find difficult to answer because we know what the answer is but admitting it to ourselves is nearly impossible.
So, I write. That has been my saving grace. As well as Thor and Lera, my family.