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| | mercredi, avril 06, 2005

I took some time off last week, hoping to relax and unwind while finding my way through an endless maze of small and very old streets in a sunny southern town.
After some time I knew the maze by heart and could blindly find my way, but the more I strolled around and led my companions to unknown corners and hidden treasures, the more I felt it. The feeling. Inside. This wasn't me. A totally new feeling crept into my brain. A tormented, contradicting, ever-changing moodiness.
It started slowly and at first I thought it was just my brain getting even with my body, because I was neglecting my own personality, under the influence of my older and perhaps rather dominating companions. Because I was walking around with my hands in the pockets of my jeans for minutes without noticing. Usually I mind not doing the hands routine, because it's so cheap and macho.
So I reckoned the gloominess was an effect of neglect, of posing like something other then I was. But the feeling remained. Even when I was alone or when I slept.
It grew. It became sharp and pointed and it felt as if I was talking and moving in darkness. Torns ripped through my sentences, my look was cold and shiny like a blade and I could switch from laughter into venomenous spitting in two words.
It felt as if two alien powers were fighting a battle inside my head.
For days and days this continued. The more I tried to understand my state of mind, the more I questioned myself. What was it that I wanted? Was I in doubt? Was I unhappy? Did I make the wrong choices in life? Should I leave everything behind never to return home?
I couldn't think of any answer in my overcrowded head and every stingy move I made was followed by guilt. I was being nasty.
Who was I? Why did I feel as if someone was personally taking over part of my brain? My life, myself?
It took me days to realize what was happening. Someone was trespassing. Going too far. Someone was venturing in my territory, trying out a few things here and there.
Someone was making me feel... jealous.
I realized that when once again I was strolling around with my hands in my pockets without noticing. The jealousy was eating away at my common sense. It was making me bitter and sad and irrational. It made me do and say things I never normally would.
How could I possibly be possessed by such a demon? I believed in sharing happiness, in non-exclusiveness, in freedom, in ties of love and friendship stronger than petty feelings of possessiveness or envy or sexual dependency. I believed in never limiting someone's room to move. Everybody needs love, so when you have it, why not share it.
But this was all theory of course.
I found out that I could share to a certain extend. But even then I got jealous.
I got jealous of my lover and her former lover. The way they talked, the way they organized things, making me invisible, turning back time to a moment when I wasn't in her life yet.
Out it came, a burst of bile, bitter hate, humiliation, disgrace, weakness, shame and fear.
I tried to step out of their time, to run away, to get her back. I would have given anything not to have to be there. But there was no escape. I was trapped in my own maze, alone, while everyone else was enjoying a nice holiday.

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