Monday the 23th March:
Time.
I'm losing track of time.
Today feels the same as yesterday, and tomorrow will be the same as today.
I feel like the broken cassette, always playing the same song, the same day.
I read a book a week ago named "L'Étranger". It's a novel that I'm going to present for my French oral presentation. It's actually really interesting and good, but at the same time very strange and absurd. The main protagonist, an antihero, is accused of killing a person and is put in prison. He explains how he feels and how he perceives his days, now that he lost the notion of time. He says:
"Long à vivre sans doute, mais tellement distendus qu'ils finissaient par déborder les uns sur les autres. Ils perdaient leur nom. Les mots hier ou demain étaient les seuls qui gardaient un sens pour moi. Lorsqu'un jour, le gardien m'a dit que j'étais là depuis cinq mois, je l'ai cru mais je l'ai pas compris. Pour moi, c'était sans cesse le même jour qui déferlait dans ma cellule et la même tache que je poursuivais." *
It's gloomy outside, it's been raining all day and it seems that it's strongly affecting my mood. The media is not helping either. The situation is getting worser. Cases of infected people and deaths are drastically increasing every day. I had no motivation for work, neither for drawing or reading. All I'm doing is lying on my bed, thinking, and my thoughts are eating me from inside.
What's the point of living, if I'm not excited for tomorrow?
I can't even remember the last day I've been to school, I can't correctly remember my friends faces, neither their voices. I can't remember his face, I can't remember his voice. If I knew that it was the last time I see him, would I did things differently? I don't think so. I'm just too anxious, caring too much about what people think. I probably would just look at him longer, trying vainly to print his face in my mind.
I'm regretful.
~~~
*: Extract from "The Stranger" by Albert Camus.
Translation: Long to live without doubt, but so distended that they ended up spilling over each other. They lost their names. The words yesterday or tomorrow were the only ones that kept meaning for me. When the guard one day told me that I had been there for five months, I believed him but I didn't understand him. For me, it was constantly the same day that swept through my cell and the same spot that I was chasing.
YOU ARE READING
Lockdown Diary of an emotionally unstable mess
Short StoryIt's been about a month that we're all stuck at home. Some people doing better than others. I think I'm starting to lose track of time, and being alone with myself isn't doing me any good. So I decided to write this. To stay sane, and remember this...
