Thought Train

Sitting here at my desk, nervous, with a heartbeat far too fast, waiting for something to happen … But for what? My fingers hardly obey my mind’s instructions on typing the words in the correct order of letters. Typos by the score, yet at the same time my writing is rapid, as if I needed to catch something that’s trying to escape my grip. But then again: what is it? Listening to the steady hum of my computer and the steady clicking of my fingers on the keys, the silence around me feels all the more solid. If I switched on my external hard disk drive now and played some music from my vast collection, maybe this would drown the silence around me. But inside, I would still hear the silence. The silence you hear, when you’re alone, only with your thoughts for company. Thoughts that keep racing through your head, chasing each other or more often chasing their own tails. They come and go without waiting to be beckoned in. Like vampires: once you opened a window for them, they can enter freely and feed on you. They know that they are stronger than I am. They don’t need to ask. But what if …?

What if I shut them out? Put a good fast lock at the entrance of my mind, and a sign, which says: No entry permitted without passport. Then when some thought came and wanted to enter my mind, I could look at it and check its justification. Reasonable thoughts might enter, but those, which only came to cause trouble and confusion, would receive a good kick in the a…

Wish it was that simple. Or is it?

I know, what I’m waiting for: I’m waiting for this lock to suddenly appear like magic, for it to appear to be at my service, just like that. Now wouldn’t that be nice? Only that it won’t happen. Too easy. How does the saying go: If you want help, then help yourself. But how could I possibly do this? Oh, I guess that I’m already on my way, because I’ve come aware. Aware of the fact that I need help. So at least I have the advantage of not just feeling miserable without a clue, but in fact realizing that I feel miserable, like starting to see vague outlines in the mist, which is surrounding me and filling me. Outlines, which might turn into more recognizable shapes and even solid and touchable objects, if I pushed harder. But what if I did? Would I like, what I got to see then?

I’m afraid.

Can you please take my hand, so that I won’t feel so alone?

(Copyright Ines Langs, January 29, 2008)