Has it ever hit you like a wave?

Waking up in the morning, disoriented, unsure of who you are, what you’re doing, what you did yesterday, and what to expect from tomorrow. A crushing flatness, settling in like the dryness in your throat, the weight in your stomach pressing against your sternum. Flat, like your mind in that moment, caught between rushing into action or surrendering to it.

Trembling, you place your feet on the cold floor.

Blurry-minded, you get dressed – slowly, mindlessly. Flat. Like you are these days. Thoughts begin to surface – the appointment you have, the task you should have done yesterday but didn’t. Why didn’t you? The thing you need to organize, the place you have to go, the message you should have replied to, the email you never sent, the call you ignored, the one you should have made. You rush out, carrying a mountain of things to care about, but with a mind too numb to handle them. You close the door. Maybe better to slam it — you’re in a rush.

You return late. Carefully, you remove your shoes. The coat. The hat. The scarf – pulling it off, it tangles, tightens, choking you. The rings. The bracelet. And there she is, waiting. The sensation, creeping in again, intrusive.

She lives in your house now, sprawled naked on your sofa, waiting to swallow you whole the moment you try to relax. She attacks like a cat – eyes wide, luring you in with feigned softness, only to sink her claws deep into your skin. Back legs kicking, pinning you down, sharp teeth biting through the back of your hand like butter. And you don’t fight back. You don’t pull away. It hurts, but you pity her. So you let her stay, and just like that, you ignore what’s clawing its way up inside of you, because you don’t have the guts to face it. So you don’t. Everything remains flat. Dull.

Boredom doesn’t come only from doing nothing. It also comes from letting yourself be consumed. You welcomed her in by running, by rushing, by filling every moment until – at some point – you forgot to lock the door. And she slipped in. Now she lingers, forcing you to see parts of yourself you never had to face before. The only way out is to look at your reflection. Like Rinaldo in Gerusalemme Liberata, you’ve been lulled into complacency by the illusions of your own mind.

So get naked. Cold. In the dark of your bedroom, in front of your mirror, and see if you still recognize yourself after all these years spent looking only at your reflection.

Do you remember when you used to stare at yourself, afraid you wouldn’t be accepted? And do you remember the feeling of dressing up in a nice coat, the scent of new shoes, the sensation of silk against your skin?Do you remember how it made you feel – perfect, bold, ready – your mind racing with thoughts of the future as you mirrored yourself?

Why don’t you do that anymore?

Why don’t you put on that waist-cinching shirt, that long, perfect jacket – new, made of that soft, sinuous fabric? The one you wore when you wanted to be someone else, seeking refuge in that version of yourself you loved so much — there, reflected.

And that jacket you longed for but left behind in the store? Why?
“I don’t know, when would I even wear it? I’d feel embarrassed.”
Because it was too much for you. For that flat, dull version of yourself.

So put it on.
Stand in front of the mirror.
Feel its weight.
Let it settle on your shoulders.
Now tell me – still too much, or exactly what you were missing?