letting go

M had felt it lately, more often than before; the undeniable and unquestionable feeling of slipping into something she probably shouldn't slip into, the slow but steady and - above all - unstoppable deterioration of the cornerstones of her mind.

it was in the afternoons when she just sat in front of the computer screen and couldn't do absolutely anything at all, even when the deadlines approached day by the day and the anxiety caused by the inevitable failure to meet them made her palms sweat and stuck her breath in her throat. it was in the random, brash and hostile thoughts that popped into her head completely unexpected, uninvited and frighting. it was in the shapeless rage that exploded inside of her for whatever mundane reasons and was directed to people around her, completely unaware and innocent of it --  the lady in front of her in the queue of the grocery shop, smelling like wet wool; or the young boy, hardly legal, who ate his gum too loudly behind her in a tram. it was also in the nights when she couldn't sleep because she was afraid of her dreams, and if she did she woke the neighbours up with her screams; and it was in the glazed look of her eyes that stared at her from the bathroom mirror when she leaned in to take a closer look at the person she had been turned into.

she didn't know what was worse - realizing with such clarity that she was quite likely going mad, or the general lack of interest that made her eerily indifferent towards this fact. when M had been five years old she had once almost drowned;  the feeling she had experienced then, the moment of acknowledgement that in the next second she would have to inhale the water - how in that very same second it had turned irrelevant and all fear had disappeared - that was how she felt now. she was about to fall into insanity as the water had been about to fill her lungs; only now there was now saving grip of her father, of anyone, to pull her to the surface. 

but there was no fear or resistance any more, either.