„I have seen the end of the world.“
My witch always laughs about me saying things like that.
This time, it is not about everything inside of me that has been breaking apart ever since this Dystopia started.
This time, it is about a walk that I have taken almost every day for the past 17 months. This path leads me to a lake, through a small forest and across a bridge connecting the forest with a field and having a highway underneath. It leads me the end of that field, where one last street is offering the last witching houses of the city, before it finally ends and high grass is taking over.
A small river encircles this last field of the city and very soon parts into other smaller rivers interrupting grass and field, and whatever the end of the city has to offer.
This feels like the end of my world, whenever I am standing there.
While taking that walk, I sometimes needed to drink juice at the bridge across the highway while listening to Avril Lavigne during sunset and missing visiting my family and my old cat.
In some of those awful hot summer nights, I was seeking escapes onto the fields between the witching houses, and whenever the wide horizon opened up in front of me, I had to think about how magical summer nights once had felt, when they were still full of friends and campfires.
Sometimes, I was even whispering names to the horizon and thought of silhouettes I wanted to appear, only to later moan and sigh those names into a pillow. Too much information? My witch and I don’t think so.
Another time, I was standing by the river and looking back at the very last witching houses of my city, when I suddenly felt motivated to check on my E-Mails I had been ignoring for too long. There I was, shivering in the light of a lantern attached to one of the very last houses, only to find out that my exam results were not on the list. Under that kind of stress that taking my exams after weeks of lockdown and having studied all on my own had been for me, I had written my name wrong, and within the next day would have to call my Professor and ask him for my results in person – and I was furious about how tough things could be, once you had to face them alone.
I also once stood in the middle of that field screaming, because I had been able to establish a kind of relationship to a troubled boy I was teaching, only to have him disappear into quarantine and our last lessons being swallowed by lockdown nr. 2 lasting 6 months.
It became a habit to go to the end of the world whenever I could not take things anymore.
One thing about taking a walk to the end of the world is that you might not come back as the same person.
Whenever I walked out there, I was looking for something I could not find inside of me anymore. Something that had held it all together.
At some point, I accepted that it was lost. I would never put the pieces together the way they were before. I would have to find a new way.
A few days ago, I was walking along these small rivers with a friend and I was telling her about the soft smell that sometimes was around them. It was not uncomfortable, only noticeable. She told me how the rivers were part of the sewage plant system outside of the city and that the soft smell meant that they were doing a good job.
I found it inspiring to walk along this vital part of infrastructure, and I had to remember how only 18 months ago I would have researched the sewage plant, would have made a map and taken my kids on a walk across this complex system to encourage them to wonder and take interest in their environment.
I cannot do that anymore.
I have seen too many things break apart, and I cannot live with that same inspiration anymore.
But walking to the end of the world will help me piece together something new I will one day be able to call me.
Why I am not a nice girl
I am not your nice, Christian girl next door, as you might have noticed. And this is not a role I play for this blogging project, or to promote my writing and music. This is me, and I stick to it, even when it gets complicated, and believe me: It becomes an issue more often…
Intimate tale
I yearn for those moments,When I existedsolelyin your eyes.When I wasnothingBut an image causingCuriosity.I lived in those momentsWhen you knewNothingAbout the scarsBetween myThighs.Moments that werePure and softAnd kept mySecretWithout anyFalsity.In those momentsI felt loveFor all the thingsYou mustn’tKnow.All the thingsWent looseWithin myHeadAnd found their wayOnto myTongue.I still amThese momentsWhen I hadYouAnd you deniedThe thingsI wanted…
The tale of mental health in a burning world
“Wanna feel better?”, my witch asks me as she presents tonight’s options. Do we want to get drunk and risk a headache? Do we want to try out yoga again although we’ve never managed to take it seriously? Do we want to escape the last traces of reality by watching a sitcom and ignoring the…
Mistress witch writes 