Madrid month blues

And then there are times when I’m afraid of being alone, afraid to stop moving for even a moment. The world is moving around me and I feel like a walking shadow surrounded by human life that I am not a part of. I walk in the streets at a pace that’s hardly transporting me just so I look like a person walking down the street. People pass with their groceries and their friends and lovers and their strange habits. I watch a man produce a jar that most definitely looks like mustard out of a shopping bag, unscrew the lid and take a sip.
I unlock the door of my apartment that’s dimmed with the light of the day and I want to fall asleep forever, disappear because there’s nowhere on earth I can escape this sensation that creeps up from the depths and paralyzes my ability to be or scream or feel. I could absently drink a jar of mustard too or walk around with one shoe on and the refrigerator door still open and my laundry piling up for weeks. The trash needs to be emptied and the dishes need to be washed but all I can do is sit with my legs crossed on the sofa and my eyes focusing unintentionally on a crumb that must have fallen yesterday on the floor, or the day before, or the day before that.
All the dirt seems to be accumulating at a faster pace than I can move to collect it and throw it out the window in a storm of dust and memories and emotional baggage from years and years of regrets I continue to deny I have.
When I sleep at night, my sleep is filled with the hubbub of dreams and the dreams are filled with images of friends whose friendships were deep rooted and solid as steel once. And an unrequited love, which is the best kind really. And I’m longing for a place across the sea that I couldn’t wait to leave because this part of me was a part of me there too and I thought I could leave it behind.