Crisis red hot: a rather public sort of a statement
Every once so often I have a crisis. I am weaning out of a crisis as such at the moment. The crisis have no bearings or grounding in anything ‘real’: getting fired, running out of next month’s rent, being dumped, falling in love miserably or waking up with a limb missing. During these times, or when speaking of these times, fragile friends, promising acquaintances or fake lovers ask, ‘what happened? What went wrong? What precipitated it? You were just fine until the night before’, I have no answers. My logic and rationality is tested. Until now – lacking a ‘real, rational’ reason for my crisis – I had convinced myself it is a matter of hormones, lunar cycles or genetically transmitted madness. After one of these numbing crises, I had decided, sworn myself into a solemn vow, that I shall not seek the aid of pills, pink plastic blades or noose around my neck when lacking in emotions, rationality and logic. It is too messy to wake up in your own filth.
I have kept that promise to myself.