This week has been really rough. I helplessly felt darkness consuming me from within; insecurities, sorrow and hopelessness persistently gnawed at me. All I wanted to do was to sleep till this mess was over, avoiding stressful social interactions.
Luckily I didn’t chicken out of meeting my old friend Mia. After talking for a while to catch up on our lives, we moved on to taking some random shots, experimenting with material that was lying around. I wanted to keep it as real as possible so I didn’t tell her how to pose. My ideas were so random that failure was very probable, but she was willing to try everything without any expectations – and so much patience.
Right after leaving her I fell back into my engulfing black hole, but when I started editing her photos in the evening I slowly, slowly started to feel better again. This is my therapy.
Finally I’ve started to realise why I’ve been hating my photos. I’ve been following a formula, doing what my subjects expect me to do – without any room for experiments, failures, or connection. The result felt lifeless. But this? This is it.
Back in Lucerne after a three-days-break at home, I run into my flatmate Robin and his friend C in the living room. I’m not ready for social interactions, even less with them. They mean a lot to me, but they also remind me of the happy times we shared with my love and I’m not ready to face the new reality without him. Not yet, I can’t. All I want is to be alone. I can barely greet them and hurry into my room (noticing a lonely crutch on my way, but not giving it a second thought).
Then I edit these photos while hearing their muted conversation from the living room. I don’t want to be like that, controlled by these disturbing emotions that make normal life impossible. This girl hiding in her room, avoiding her friends? That’s not me. Luckily I calm down after some photo editing and tentatively leave my room. Robin and C have golden hearts and act as if I didn’t behave like a total weirdo an hour ago.
I’m still half caught in my somber thoughts and feelings, but at least I’m okay enough to be in company again. Robin walks with crutches, his knee totally destroyed, and I feel horrible about not noticing it when I arrived. Suddenly my week doesn’t seem so horrible anymore and when I propose to play Exploding Kittens to cheer us up, it helps. For a while laughter, revenge promises and curses cast out our sorrows.
Be careful what you wish for.
I could laugh about myself. One moment I’m back in Lucerne, struggling with company, torn between the desire to be alone and see the people dear to my heart. The next day I unexpectedly find myself all alone in this flat that is way too big for one person. I’m scared of its emptiness and the demons that lurk in my mind, waiting for an opportunity to creep out. How am I supposed to survive one week on my own? I’m so used to have Robin around and just spent an entire month with my love, never alone.
But, as always, I was too worried. It’s beautiful. The next morning, my music plays through the loudspeakers. Songs on repeat – I don’t have to worry about annoying anyone. I wear my favourite denim jacket, braless. The perks of living alone. No wonder I was so comfortable having a flat on my own in Germany two years ago.
Solitude echoes from the clinical walls, but the taste isn’t bitter. Not even bittersweet, no, it’s sweet. It’s just me, the silence of solitude mingled with lovely tunes from the loudspeakers and the dead winter landscape outside the window. No snow to cover it up, to make it more beautiful. Raw, ugly winter, beautiful in its bleakness. And I’m finally feeling better, one day at a time.
✕ ✕ ✕
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Also, I’ve discovered a beautiful song: Places We’ve Roamed by Dancing Years. Check it out! :))