King of Nothing

I woke up today to a world unknown, the empty bed trapping me within its linen walls; feeling comfortable, yet not. And then I remember: the constant heavy burden. My mind, my eyelids, all so heavy.

It's like this everyday now. Feeling tortured when there's no real torture. Or is there? I can't think, my mind is still trapped in its own perfect little world. But it'll join me soon.

The water brings about a refreshing feeling that seems to fill me with life. Even the harsh cloth feels good on my skin, because it feels so real. But it is all temporary. As I open my eyes, my mind finally reconnects with reality. Everything is clear now. I see my image in the mirror, staring back at me, as if it was getting ready to laugh sarcastically.

I breath out heavily, as if I were trying to exhume some... thing. I don't know what it is, but it's there. And it feels heavy. My mind, my eyelids, all so heavy.

The house is alive now. But it seems like such an insignificant and irrelevant type of life. None of it really matters in the end. I'd take sanity, well-being and good health over all of it any day of the week.

I stumble back into the room. It smells like nothing, it feels like nothing. The resting place for the King of Nothing. Or is it "King of his own world"? Or maybe the two are one and the same?

The phone rings. As usual, I know who it is and what they have to say. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I know too many things. Anticipation can be the mother of all evils. It's neat when things happen just as you expect them to. But there's a thin line between anticipation and boredom. Some spontaneity for the King?

There's a knock on the door. Again. I didn't hear the first one, but I just know it happened. I'm so sure of it that it almost feels as if I heard it. I'm told to hurry up. Seems like it's all I do these days. Hurry. My anger level rises. I don't know why, but I'm just so bloody angry at that point. Maybe it's because I know. I hate being told something I already know.

I reach for my third bottle of water. Water is my morning medicine. I collect all the stupid, irrelevant things that I'll be "needing" for the day and head upstairs. Everything is irrelevant. Except the mask. The mask is essential.

The stench of yesterday's smoke and stale food fills the air. Nauseating, but familiar. And real. As usual I'm the last to leave, but I don't care that people are waiting. They couldn't care less about the important things in my life, so why care about theirs? I close my eyes the entire time. I need as much rest as I can afford these days. We arrive, and I'm instantly wishing for it to be over. As I recap what needs to be done, I can't help but think that I just can't be bothered.

Somehow, time flies by. I walk around on auto-pilot with my mask. Everything is fine and dandy for the King. All smiles, all good. All masked, covering up some sort of deep, dark secret. Covering up some truth that I have been unable to find for years.

And then suddenly, the excitement kicks in. I realise that I'm going home. Euphoria. My mask fades and I find serenity. Peace from all chaos. Suddenly all is right with the world. My senses come alive, and I can feel everything around me. I step outside on the balcony. Cold winds immediately engulf my body, and I welcome them with open arms. I'm not on auto-pilot. The King's ship captains itself now.

But then reality seeps in. It is time, and my anger swells up again. I need more time, much more time. I head downstairs to my room. I close the door, and I feel as if I'm in a coffin. As I lay in bed, euphoria turns into dysphoria. My mind, my eyelids, all so heavy.

And then that uncomfortable mountain settles on my chest. Its a mountain that symbolizes everything, yet it contains nothing, and I am its King. The mighty, lonely King of Nothing. I look at the broken empire that has become my life, and I try and think back to when it all went sideways. A dramatic turn of events indeed...