It is a chilly December night. Wind blowing through the dry leaves, hitting surfaces that freeze after. It’s just something in the way the universe works on nights like these that makes me want to stay quiet. And observe. Many say I have a Seasonal Affective Disorder. The internet certainly diagnosed me into having it. But here I am sitting on the edge of the railing on my roof top, gazing at the starts and sometimes stealing glances of the rusted busy street below. I stare into space and think of time and how it just flies at its own pace. Without looking, without caring about what impact it will have on billions of lives. I stare at my own shoulder. Watching as the wind blows taking my sweatshirt back along with it. Watching the wind blow through my hair, leaving strands of it on my face, neck and shoulder and sometimes pushing it back. That’s how life works I guess. There are times when we are burdened with everything, things and people are all over us, and then there are times when we are left with nothing, everything is pushed behind. And just as my thoughts kept getting quieter, so did the busy, old street. So I get down from up there, and go out. I go on walking on the not-so-busy streets of this wafer city. In the middle of the road, feeling the wind and seeping in the chills just adding up to the coldness of my soul. I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt, never stopping as I don’t want to until the end, on this road, on my life’s road. I reach a café and I enter just to make the air curtain mess with my hood and hair. I look up at it and it doesn’t care, but I, burn my eyes with the force of that air. And in that moment I realise that there are times in our lives when we are not supposed to look back at what hits us. Because if we do, it will do more harm than good, it will only hurt us more. I order a frappé and go and sit on that wooden chair in a corner, thinking, about nothing and nothingness. I see the magazines on my table unstacked. So I stack them up properly. I see a little baby stem of rose coming out of the vase kept on my table, it bothers me, so I push it back inside. I notice the nail paint on my thumb is half chipped so I scratch it all off. And then my caffeine arrives and I see a single droplet of water on the straw and I wipe it. Yes, as you might have guessed it by now, I have OCD also, according to the internet.
I stop thinking and start talking. Talking to who, but? Ugh, I talk to myself a lot. Or to objects as well. I am talking to my frappé at the moment about how everything, from the dust that we’re made up of to the dust we’ll end up being, is all temporary. I keep talking for a while. The lady on the table beside me is looking at my ear through my hair to see if I’m wearing a Bluetooth device. I push my hair back for her to find that there is none.
And so, sometimes, according to the internet and this lady, I have schizophrenia too.