Instability, yet Alive

For a while, I try to dance with this tender disorder.

At first, I thought it only concerned a minority of people.

But over time, I began to observe those around me. To observe myself.

Today, most of us live with constant mood swings, hypersensitivity, raw emotions, irritation that flares up at the slightest annoyance.

We get angry for no reason, we become distant without explanation. Even with those we love.

It takes just one poorly chosen word, a silence that lasts too long, a laugh that comforted us yesterday but now irritates us.

We can’t stand anything anymore. As if our nerves were raw.

I’m talking about a collective state of emotional instability, almost normalized by fatigue, pressure, fear, isolation.

What I feel, I know others feel too: a constant tension in the air, in relationships, in our thoughts.What if this world made us all a little unbalanced...

A shadow reaching out a hand in the fog.

Even when we love...Sometimes, we live with people we deeply love.

But there comes a moment when we no longer want to be there, in the same room.

We don’t want to talk anymore. We don’t want to listen anymore. We don’t want to give anymore.

Not because we hate them. But because we are exhausted.

I know it’s a collective state.

People are tired. People are on edge.

Society no longer gives us time to breathe, nor time to repair bonds, even those we want to keep alive.

So we try.

We pray.

We take time for ourselves.

We go for walks.

We step away to come back better.

We look for a hobby. A breath. A silence.

But sometimes, even that isn’t enough.

Because the pressure returns, at times...

And I wonder: is this what it means to be human today?

Are we doomed to all become unstable, hypersensitive, overwhelmed by our emotions?

Is the world changing the way we love, live, and be together?

But I speak. I speak.

I am sensitive.

I observe.

I analyze still.

I feel things deeply. Too deeply, sometimes.

I try to open my face, even when everything weighs on me.

Sometimes, I force an exaggerated, extreme laugh...

But often, that laugh ends up being true.

It escapes me, it frees me.

So I speak. Again.

I reach out a hand. I write. I look at the sky.

I take a deep breath. I dance a little.

And I believe that’s how we resist.

Not with perfect answers.

But with small acts of life.

Words.

Chosen silences.

Provoked laughter.

Shared glances.

I speak to myself.

I speak to you.

I speak to us.

It’s fragile.

But it’s there.

And it tells me that we can still live together.

Differently.

Gently.

Truly.