Does the moon tire of our existence, or does she have all the world as a stage in front of her eyes? Is humanity stale, boring, never changing? On the whole, perhaps. We never seem to learn from our mistakes, our diplomacy moves in ever the same cycles and history inevitably repeats itself. On a human to human level however, we must seem like the most organic, malleable beings trapped in a time stream of such an ephemeral scale, paling to the old souls of the sun and the moon. In the course of a single year, a month, a day even, a single human’s psyche changes so much and projects outwards into their appearance.
Stress can be the most wonderful determinant of style, and its phases can last as long as a single moon or many orbits of the sun. What then, about the day to day phases. Not every single day can meet the euphoric high of events that come around only one or twice a year, or meet the simple hurdle of just being a ‘good day’. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. There are some days when all she sees in her mind is an impenetrable void and other days where she is the one staring from inside that void. Watching. Observing everything that’s going on through a pinhole whilst her only outward appearance is the steely determination on her face. It’s those days that people think she’s doing fine, and those days make up most of the term.
She tries to leave the ocean floor but a small voice from the abyss doesn’t yet want to let her go. It hands her a veil of darkness. Dissociation is the coping mechanism her mind chooses for her, when it all gets a bit too much.
She feels like a backseat driver in her own life.
Is it disconcerting to stare into the abyss and not only see a face staring back but befriend it. In her lowest of lows she embraces the sweet nothing of sleep as a release from the pressure piled upon her shoulders. At times it feels as if she’s swimming vertically through a thick stream of honey, trying to get to the top of some invisible precipice from which this waterfall is drowning her. Stop. Breathe. You’ve made it here. Wherever here is, it is only one phase in your life, even if it isn’t the top.
A helping hand reaches over the top of the cliff face she’s climbing. It offers a rope and pulls her out of the oppressive fog. She knows that life goes on and that she will outlive this phase and thrive at the top of the cliff face. Once the veil is lifted, it feels as if she’s on the top of a great monolith, staring at the world below, exhilarated.
Never give life the satisfaction of knowing you’ve become its weary old friend; never let life best you by breaking you. Life doesn’t deserve that satisfaction. Let sheer pettiness drive you to keep your story in the present tense. Live to see Mother Moon and her starlets once more; show how her how you’ve changed and make her smile.
This too shall pass. Stay strong, seek help.