AUTHOR: Saanvi
EDITOR: Shu
ARTIST: Nika
TRIGGER WARNING: DEPRESSION
The mold in my bathroom is ruining me from within.
It overtakes my ceiling. It is like my senses are overtaken by this mold, withdrawn and so far removed from the rest of me.
We are in the age of decay, this mold and me.
Another year has come to a close, I am not any closer to deliverance than I was last year. I have not moved.
I had lived an entire 365 days without will, still stuck in a time period that kicked me out. “Move on!” it had screamed.
I had refused.
“Move on!” I scream at the mold.
It sits on my wall and listens.
In this era of sickening mundanity, the days feel longer when someone asks you, “What are your plans for the future?” and you do not know the answer. Your burdens feel heavier when your routine is filled with nothingness, witherment and your thoughts. Your mind doesn’t feel yours, the rot is eating away at your creativity, spreading all over your mind and body.
I feel myself growing crazier everyday that I am forced still.
And still somehow, I do nothing to break free and move. I need more time.
Need…need…
More…more…
I…need…I…more…
I am breathless with the effort it takes me to do nothing at all.
I still need…
The weather meanwhile itches me in all the wrong places.
It gets so hot, I cannot breathe. Then, temperatures drop and it’s finger-numbingly cold.
Either way, I am meant to rot with my thoughts. So that is what I do.
Sometimes, winds flow and flowers grow. Sometimes, autumn leaves fall in beautiful shades of red.
I take it as a sign of the world begging me to undo my rotting (and get rid of the mold already).
I tell it to beg harder.
Thunder, lightning, rain. They cannot persuade me into moving either. My body is too heavy, limbs have forgotten how to move beyond this familiar place that smells spoilt, reeking of failure and inability.
I do need more…
More…t…
Maybe this is the mold talking, but I think I should let it stay a little longer on my ceiling. We both simply need more time.
We see the world turning, moving on and moving, quicker than us. Then suddenly, the mold is being treated and my walls are back to being white and clean. Except I’ve never felt more filthy.
I said I needed more time and this rotten, dying world did not listen, did not let me die with it. I needed more time. I still.
I…need…more…time.
No one listens to me and my infected, manic mind.
I am in the age of decay. I remain rooted in one place long after the toxic mold is gone. And this time, there is no one to blame. I am in this alone.
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