Dystopia mind

There is an iced latte in front of me and the sun is shining.
My words to the person in front of me had been enough to fill pages, as well as to end the patience in the kind eyes looking at me.
„You are catastrophizing again!“
„Am I?“
„Yes!“
„But are you sure that I‘m not right?“
Desperation sparkles uniquely in the light of the sun.
On both ends of the table.

Very often, I still don‘t know how to think about life.
About being alive.
About living a life.
.. and about the fact that we‘ve kept this historical horror going for so long.

I wonder where to get the strength from.
The strength to wake up in the morning.
To put on a face and keep the body going.
To be facing those that question you.
Even those that wish you harm?
Where does it come from?
The unbreakable ability to do this day after day?
Does a mind just have to keep going?
And if so, how do I dare to take a rest?

Because later that day, I can’t resist to leave the kitchen table a mess and escape into the sunset to walk as far as I can and forget about everything, while still having spiraling thoughts.
And right there, my witch giggles into my ears. „Not everyone has a Dystopia mind like yours.“

Do I have a Dystopia mind?
Is it because I have a past?
Is that why I can‘t allow myself to rest?
Is that why I so easily keep falling apart?

Or is finding the right rhythm to live simply one of the toughest tasks in all of life?
How much can I rest, and still find my way back?
How far can I wander off without getting lost?

„Can I sometimes dream away and still keep going?“, I ask my witch.
Or even better: What is life without?
Without a deep breath on a field during sunset?
Without a blurry photograph of your happiest moment?

When exactly is there danger of fairies stealing you away?
Of demons wanting to make a deal?

I cannot tell, but I can tell that my mind easily wanders off to take refuge.
It sees so many threats in a world that in fact is very unstable. With wars, plagues and burning skies, and it wants to escape the pain. The pain in the chest that always seems to be there.

How do I teach a Dystopia mind that the worst case is still unlikely?
That even in a burning world your shadow is cast in shades and not in absolutes?

I am currently trying to figure it out.
To keep going.
And to maybe win back the trust in those patient eyes.