A witching promise

I’ll come back.
I’ll be back.
I’ll come back to haunt you.

“I’ll come back to haunt you, once I’ve drowned”, my witch sighed deep into our bottle of wine. We have not done this in months. I got busy with things which I had assumed would be easier but turned out to be a hell in this new world. I have written a thesis alone at my desk while looking at a photograph of the roof of our old library at the university which I had always liked for its aesthetic that reminded me of old spaceship designs, for example from the movie “silent running”. There in the library, I had spent a mentionable amount of my time. I had inhaled the busy atmosphere that had me believe in me doing the things I was about do to. I had shared chocolate and a cigarette with complete strangers, and sometimes those strangers had become friends.

I also always thought I would sneak my camera in one day to take a good picture of the roof top I loved so much, but I missed that chance.

Without, I still felt homeless. I had built plans on me always being able to access this place and its energy, and without that the whole person I had once been was breaking apart.
But I finished my things, after months of figuring out how to do anything. I even took my final oral exam, although after all this time with a very low battery, I felt a blur inside which even let me forget the structure of a water molecule. I had known these things even before I studied. It was so embarrassing.

But I survived it and I still woke up the next day and the day after. Maybe for now, that is what it is all about.

But while a next wave of anxiety is rising while I am out on a field where I have always been taking refuge since the pandemic started, I realize that I felt numb. So numb. It may see relaxig after the long months between desperate sadness, witching euphoria and the fear to finally fall apart, but it is not. It is the most unsettling for a passionate witching mind! So I had to force myself to feel something, and to face what I was going through. “I am fucking scared”, I whisper to the last trace of an early autumn sunset. “I am fucking scared of failing that exam again because of me being scared which is what I am scared of!” And finally I can cry.

When I am really frightened, I freeze. I can stay in that frozen state for years and only notice once all my emotions come at once and I escalate.

When I first visited my best friend after weeks into the very first lockdon, I showed him my version of Emilie Autumn’s novel “The asylum for wayward victorian girls” and told him how the book was designed and invited for people in times of crisis to write notes into it and how I had done so in the last weeks, and how funny it felt to write into a book that dealt with medical history and used plagues as a metaphor for a lot of mental health issues while we were going through a modern plague. Still a cool thought, but a bit naive to actually assume that this would not turn into a mental health crisis as well, don’t you think? The breakdown I had within the first lockdown and the way I struggle to find myself in this world at all have brought me to take my own mental health really serious for the first time.

I have long thought about putting this up. Where does that leave me? Is this still a Dystopia diary capturing the life during a modern plague, or does a diagnosis put me out of the position to speak for more people than just me? I can’t even say what exactly is wrong with me, yet. At first it was supposed to be just the struggle adjusting, but then I had flashbacks I barely remember while trying to tell the therapist about childhood memories I thought I had clear in mind, and with all of the emotional states he had been able to talk to me in, it went from depression to bipolar to possibly borderline. I really appreciate his care and thoughtfulness about what to lable me as, but I would really like to know, and honstely: I think it is likely goin to be the last option mentioned.

I still thinkt that I am capturing a state the world is in. I am just much, and a really dangerously amount of much, more sensitive and perceptible in this situation.

Since I started this whole issue now, I think I will post an update once I have come clear about this part of myself.

Until then, Layla and I have a lot of writing to do.
Whenever I fall into this terrifying, frozen state of numbness, I also don’t write or don’t write easily and that is helpful! Because once I cannot access this part of me that has emotions and ideas and writes, I have to search for it through writing and art and music and meditating on a field during sunset to not breakdown again at some point later.

Layla and I will expore the witching history of the area we are living in, as well as finally writing our piece about witching houses, and also about the connection between witchcraft and believes in conspiracies still haunting us! Stay with us!

The night is glowing and I’m drunk.