Theme Park

Thank you Claude and ChatGPT for the staging.

Yesterday, the depression had a different quality – one that fit into a concrete image: that of a theme park.
Normally, the park is alive – cars bursting with colour, music echoing through the air, a log shooting down the water ride, children laughing, people screaming with excitement on the roller coaster, movement everywhere, energy, life.

But then the depression arrives.
Not like an event, but like a shift in the weather. A cold wind, barely noticeable at first, suddenly covering the entire park in fog. Grey swathes, a heavy blanket over everything. The contours blur, the air becomes thick and heavy.

The theme park continues to exist – functional, reliable.
The roller coaster keeps running.
The carousel turns.
The water ride continues to trickle.

But the roller coaster brings about as much joy as riding up and down between piles of rubbish. The music sounds muffled, as if heard through cotton. The lights no longer shine – they only flicker as faint shadows of themselves.

It feels as if nothing is alive anymore.
You wander from attraction to attraction, sitting mechanically in the gondolas, letting yourself be carried, yet nothing touches you. Everything is there, but nothing reaches you. Joy, excitement, vitality – swallowed by a fog that has slipped between you and the world.

A “I don’t want this, I want it to be colourful” is true, desperately true.
But that’s not how it works.
Colours cannot be commanded back into being. Fog cannot be wished away. Depression cannot be driven out by sheer willpower.

What remains is a gentle reminder of one’s own self – a self that does not vanish, even when it loses itself. Small touchpoints with the world, tiny yet noticeable: the taste of coffee. The warmth of the sun on your skin. A familiar song.

Slowly, very slowly, the colours return.
First, just a whisper: a soft pink here, a muted blue there.
The fog thins in small swirls.
The music becomes clearer, the lights a little brighter.
Vitality does not return abruptly, but in delicate waves.

And at some point – without being able to say when – the park becomes fun again. You feel the thrill in the curves. The lightness. The warmth.

The world becomes colourful again. 🌈

Written on 10 December 2025 at 08:05. © 2025 Whisper7. All rights reserved.