Stress and Sadness. Fear and Longing. Worry and Sorrow. They go under different names, but we know them well. We know their real names. Anxiety. Melancholia. Like dark sisters that never meet. One is our enemy. One our friend.
They seem similar, but they’re not. Both seem to arise from the same dark, hidden place, but one whispers while the other yells. If it was possible to choose between the two, the choice would be a simple one. But it’s not possible. They come and go as they like.
Anxiety is like a predator. She buries her claws deep into your flesh, feeds on you, and leaves you bruised or worse. You want to flee, but this is not the pre-historic savannah and running will take you nowhere. So you remain on your chair as she screams at you, shouting ugly things. You dont want to listen any more, but it was never a choice in the first place, was it?
Melancholy is a cocoon. She slowly grows around you until you are fully enclosed and divorced from the world. Inside that cocoon is the entire universe, cold and vast. With her near you are alone, on a mountaintop in the faint light of distant stars, feeling the night’s breeze against your naked skin. The world is an ocean embracing you, and you can feel every inch of the never-ending depth’s ice cold water.
It’s the summer sunrise before the others have waken up. The starry night when they’re asleep.