I think the biggest reason for all this silence is the fact that I’m avoiding initiating a dialogue with myself. In fact, lately I’ve been avoiding pretty much everything. If I don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist. Denial.

Too bad life doesn’t work that way. Sitting here, alone, forces me to face myself. No masks, no distractions, just me. But who am I?

I’ve always wondered if life is easier for people who have a passion for something and go after it. Or people who are really good at something and end up making a career out of it. I think it’s probably great when it works out, but if you end up crashing and burning, it’s damn difficult to recover from. I’ve never been passionate about anything for more than a day at a time. The good thing is, I don’t get depressed or upset for long periods of time, but the downside is that I’m in a constant state of confusion. Today I believe in human rights, tomorrow I despise humanity and think the world is better off without us. One day I think positively about everything, the next I wallow in desperation. Some days I can do anything, other days I’m paralysed with fear. So who am I, really?

And what the hell am I supposed to do with this life of mine? I feel like I’m standing in a crossroads, and all the roads are equally strange and intimidating. All dark, all unknowable. And if I choose one, I can never choose another. Thinking about it rationally, I understand that nothing in life is permanent. Still, I don’t want to choose and then realise I made a mistake. I’m afraid of making mistakes. Regrets. Admitting I was wrong all along.

It’s fear all over again.