My mother has told me lately that I lost the joy of life. I thought: ‘Oh, have I?’ She made me think about what ‘joy’ really means. Is it joy when you pet your dog, and he jumps on you and licks your face? Then you laugh and beg him to stop.

Or is it joy when you put a smile on, pretending that you’re happy because you’ve just started a new job.

Can you tell the difference? Can you recognize it?

I don’t understand how some people can smile and be joyful all the time. Nice to everyone around them. That must be draining… because are they really? Are they really like this when no one is looking?

Have I lost the joy of life? No. In order to lose something, you have to own it in the first place.

Last week I picked a chair at one of the neatly organised desks and folded some paper, so I could write numbers in columns. Soon after, the numbers blurred away when my eyes started daydreaming.

I was sat there, looking out the window, where the wind was free and he led the leaves to their destination. I shouted after him, but the glass was soundproof. I wanted to catch him, but my fingers were stuck by glue.

Why didn’t I feel content when I’d chosen this room myself?

I looked around me, at the people bent over the desks. Nobody saw it, nobody listened. I made everything up in my head. Again.

I looked at the people and I envied them. Their simple minds, simple jobs, simple lives. They’re grateful for their jobs. They’re happy to be alive, surrounded by the loved ones. That’s all what mattered.

What is there that I’m looking for? Bored already by the plainly written words on the folded sheet of paper. What is there?

I don’t know who I am.

I look in the mirror and I see my face. I know what it looks like. I know my name. I know where I was born. But I still don’t know who I am.

Once, I was told that I was just a tramp. Trash. Nobody.

I believed them.

I’ve been struggling my whole life to believe that I am actually worth something. I feel unwanted and pushed down to the bottom, despite my skills and knowledge I meticulously acquired. I feel unworthy everyday.

Every day I swim in the oceans too heavy for my soul.

I’ve fallen into a rabbit hole. Everything seems like a dream, except for everything is true.

And everything I wanted to be true now is in limbo. I don’t know what to do because, whatever I’ll do, I know I won’t be satisfied either way. That frustrate me so much that I want to run away far away, where I can’t read and listen and see anything that is unwelcome by my inner self.

That’s my life now.

Why has it happened when I started understanding things and wanting things to be my way?

Because I wanted everything at once and now I have to pay for it.

I look at the time, feel it escaping from under my feet. The ground full of dull colours tries to tie my legs, so I run through the forest of leafless trees. The crying branches painfully cut my skin and squeeze my body in their strong grips. I feel like I can’t breathe… The deck of cards is after me, wanting to suck the paint out of me.

Maybe this is it. Maybe that’s where it ends.

What do your dreams look like? What colours do they have?

Mine were blue and purple, until they became grey and black, until they became ash.

I wasted all my energy on chopping wood, so that I could heat my home that never existed. Instead, I should have been dreaming of the fire that warmed me up, that calmed me down. Now there’s nothing left…

Everything I’d drawn lies at my feet pretending to be a jigsaw. I don’t want to make them whole, though. And everything I’d created blurred away into a crayon smudge that I desperately want to get rid off.

And I’m still here… The waterfall is in place to drown me, choke me to death.

I looked forward to coming back home, but as I drove puddles cut my way. I had to stop. I got out of my car, stepping straight into a swamp and staining my neat shoes. I knew the marks would never come off.

There was no coming back.

I remembered the home from the old times. When you were there, waiting for me, brewing tea, sitting in a chair. That was what I hoped to come back to.

Even though I perfectly knew you, I completely forgot who you were and what you did to me. I just missed you. I wanted you to sit next to me.

You always said what you felt, but I never wanted you to love me. Now I want nothing but you to love me.

There is no coming back.

Once upon a time there was a girl. She read a lot of books and studied hard every subject at school. She was good at everything she did and everyone had told her that she would achieve a great success in the future.

Spending every evening in her room, she read more and more books. As she read them, surprisingly, the world became more and more complicated and enigmatic. She kept going, though, because she’d been told that knowledge is important.

Once there was a competition in class. The girl answered correctly every question and won it. The whole class and the teacher gave her applause. Only then did she realize that knowing everything she actually knew nothing.

Only then did she realize that everything she learned from the books was useless for the life she wanted to have.

You probably know what you want in your life. I mean… most of the time. You know what you want to do after work today, you know where you want to go on your holiday, you know what car you want to buy, you know that you want to have a partner and children. But do you know what you really need?

I knew what I wanted and I thought I knew what I needed. Turns out I was wrong. Turns out I know nothing.

I finally broke out of the suspension that made me miserable for quite a long time. I had planned my future in my dreams and now was the time to make those plans true. But in your dreams everything is easier.

I approached my new life and I knew what to do. Yet I was stood there, tears running down my face hiding behind a mask I worn that day because I didn’t want anyone to read my emotions. I wasn’t well that day. I wanted to drop everything and just leave. Get in my car and drive somewhere far away where thoughts don’t exist. But there’s no such place, is it?

Of course, I didn’t do it… What would I do? Where would I go? My inner self wanted to go to woods and walk until I would find myself. But I’m not a wolf. I’m a scaredy-cat, I wouldn’t survive there.

I might have figured out why I run away all the time. I might have figured out why I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. I was born in the wrong place.

Once I’d found it, I abandoned it… and never I shall touch it with my eyes. Never I shall listen to its silence. I wish I could go back in time.

A substitute is always a substitute.