The power of girls’ talk

When you think you are going bananas but actually probably aren’t

In the midst of wardrobe and mind cleaning I lingered for a moment to realize, that the out-of-blue anxiety, that has lived in my stomach, just bellow the chest, is gone. Or is not that obvious anymore. I can eat like a growing girl again, sleep more than five hours and watch an episode of Hannibal without daydreaming of the weirdest life scenarios or checking my phone.

Spending more and more time alone, you start questioning every habit and thought, stripping it of all courtesies and overanalysing. Like saying the word over and over again until it loses all meaning.

Then, comes the mystical power of curling your feet under your bum in a worn-out brown armchair when they do the same thing. Smirking through smoke-filled living rooms, wine-stained glasses, and artists that you have been dying to show me. Then you spill it out because your head has become too heavy for one person to carry and the tight knot in the stomach was about to burst.

Chanting “I am a big girl” and only trusting your own head to put thoughts in order is unreasonable.

There, there, now. Tell me stories.

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