Hysteria

There are some things you don't go looking for. They find you anyway.

It began as just another piece of news, the kind you think you'll scroll past. A hospital. A young doctor. A space meant to heal, turned into something unrecognisable. You read a little, then a little more, and before you realise it, it is no longer information. It becomes something that stays. Not because of what was reported. But because of what didn't settle. There were answers, but they did not feel complete. There was action, but it did not feel enough. Somewhere between what was said and what was left unsaid, something remained open. And that space, that uncertainty, began to grow.

I remember feeling something shift.

Not outrage first. Not even grief. Just a quiet, unfamiliar fear. The kind that does not belong to you, yet slowly makes itself at home. For the first time, I understood what it might feel like to constantly measure spaces, to be aware of presence, to carry a thought that never fully leaves.

This work came from that place.

Two faces, but not two people. One trying to contain what it feels, holding it in, keeping it controlled. The other already overwhelmed, unable to hide what has entered the mind. They exist together.

Because this is what happens. Fear does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes it seeps in, sits quietly, and changes the way you see everything after.

This is not hysteria as noise.

This is hysteria as silence that refuses to leave.