Nordhofen Westerwald (Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany)
Silent fires smolder within me, continuing to burn beneath the surface for months. My zombie fire that has retreated into the earth. Nothing but ash now, no more flames. Time has allowed a meadow to grow from this ash, and everything seemed forgotten. I know exactly that the fire is still present somewhere deep inside me, yet it hasn't flared up for some time now. But I don't trust the calm. I expect an eruption at the next opportunity. That is the nature of trauma: it never disappears, only hides and then resurfaces when you've long since blocked it out.
Then the moment comes. It's a difficult day at work. Nothing seems to function, every approach feels wrong. As if in an ominous conspiracy, the forces of the world have turned against me. There is the spark that brings the fire back to life and to the surface. First smoke rises, then come the flames. It's the beginning of a deep crisis that throws me so far off balance that I want nothing more than to throw everything away and run. Where to doesn't matter—just away. Away from the smoke. Away from the fire.
These forces that work within me during such phases are of such strength that I am helplessly at their mercy. Their magnitude is no longer manageable for me. They decompose me. I fall apart minute by minute, shatter. All of this within the span of a single day. But just one day later, after a night of purification, the pendulum swings back to center. The flames retreat, the smoke disappears. In the process, my inner compass calibrates itself, and I return to a fragile equilibrium. A state of inner peace, one in which the sun emerges again. But one that never lasts.
Silent fires smolder within me, continuing to burn beneath the surface for months. My zombie fire that has retreated into the earth. Nothing but ash now, no more flames. Time has allowed a meadow to grow from this ash, and everything seemed forgotten. I know exactly that the fire is still present somewhere deep inside me, yet it hasn't flared up for some time now. But I don't trust the calm. I expect an eruption at the next opportunity. That is the nature of trauma: it never disappears, only hides and then resurfaces when you've long since blocked it out.
Then the moment comes. It's a difficult day at work. Nothing seems to function, every approach feels wrong. As if in an ominous conspiracy, the forces of the world have turned against me. There is the spark that brings the fire back to life and to the surface. First smoke rises, then come the flames. It's the beginning of a deep crisis that throws me so far off balance that I want nothing more than to throw everything away and run. Where to doesn't matter—just away. Away from the smoke. Away from the fire.
These forces that work within me during such phases are of such strength that I am helplessly at their mercy. Their magnitude is no longer manageable for me. They decompose me. I fall apart minute by minute, shatter. All of this within the span of a single day. But just one day later, after a night of purification, the pendulum swings back to center. The flames retreat, the smoke disappears. In the process, my inner compass calibrates itself, and I return to a fragile equilibrium. A state of inner peace, one in which the sun emerges again. But one that never lasts.