Melancholia

La Melancholia...

Resembles a bit the word 'cholera'.  

Maybe it actually is.  

Maybe, melancholy does to the mind what cholera does to the body but instead of losing bodily fluids, you lose, within the count of merely one heartbeat, all wit, joy and image of a bigger picture. 

A part of a Freud book title.

According to Wikipedia: 'from Greek: µέλαινα χολή melaina chole "gall bladders" also Latin lugere lugubriousness to mourn, Latin morosus moroseness of self-will or fastidious habit...'

A Lars Van Trier movie.

Or, if you ask me: 
the swift coverage of shoulders with an intangible, metallic and ponderous blanket.  

The mind soaked in a deep grey ink.   

The limbs crippled.

Impalpable prinsonbars around one's surroundings.    

I have been suffering from melancholic episodes since even before the age of ten, overcoming me especially on Sundays.  The day before school.  A sour aching stitch from my intestins reaching to my heart.  Lasting the whole day only to be cured by the reassurance that comes with the zombie like actions of a Monday morning.  

Oh, the mental calm of the mealstrom of life.  

Oh, the soothing effect of habitual actions, of living our life like souls deceased.

The student days went but the mourning episodes stayed.  

La Melancholia...

The overtaking of the aura by a dark, sombre, and gloomy energy.  
The being accompanied but feeling utterly alone and not present at all.  
The soft, yet almost unbearable, aching of a heart screaming, unable to be justly unravelled by the conscious.

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