An intimate insight into mental illness and the space between endings and new beginnings.
Somewhere in the space between 2020, 2021, the earth, the void and the taste of new experiences, I slept for 20 hours a day for 5 days straight. With every tool under the sun, the dark still lacks any source of light and the hard to swallow pill is that this will never change. As I began to emerge from one of my hardest stints of depression to date, I made an Instagram post captioned: “The trick isn’t to avoid the darkness, but to implement practices which allow us to integrate and bounce back quicker.”
The only way out is through.
Summer of sleep. Sleeping off pain, pain and pain.
Re-imagination of reality and nostalgia traps. My Instagram archive on an account I don’t even touch. You loved me so much once.
Lower, lower and lower. I’m the baby bird falling, falling and falling.
Cut it all out, only to realise I’ve cut it all out.
Cleared the slate of human connections, only to realise I cleared the slate of human connections.
Feeling alone like someone alone.
Feeling for newness in an old room.
Feeling for newness in an old room with no door, slowly dying in my old room.
More screen time. Less money. More scrolling.
Less, less and less.
Less self-worth, still no keys.
Dark night of my life.
Dark knife of my night.
Surprised I’ve died after wishing and working, working and working on a new life.
Wanting to die, resenting death.
Hard to swallow loneliness.
No light in my night.
No sight in the dark. Like the dreams of searching, searching and searching for brightness.
Summer of sleep. Sorry I disappeared, I’ve been asleep.
Am I dead?
Have I died? One foot in the void, one foot on the kitchen floor. Depression finds me in the kitchen.
Where did you go? He asked me where I went.
Somewhere else, I said on the beach.
You loved me so much once.
Hard to remember how to have a life, I said.
Same, she said. But she doesn’t really know what it feels like.
Nobody does, right? Mental health awareness revolution with nobody to talk to at the party without a smile switched on.
Thinking about things nobody wants to think about with me.
No texts, no calls. Blocked everyone’s number and wonder why they never called.
Slow music for slow-moving. Sometimes I move. Sometimes I speak and sometimes I am here.
Mostly, I’m asleep.
What did you do today? What have you been doing? What have you been doing? What have you been doing? What have you been doing? What did you do today?
Somewhere else, I went.
Summer of sleep.
I’ve almost completely disappeared.
Does anything mean anything if I’m asleep?
Mostly, I’ve cut everything away from me.
Me when I exist.
Cut everything away which ties me to identities I felt I had to serve.
I care about everything. I care about nobody texting me and I care about sleeping for 3 weeks straight. I care about waking up at 8 am and going to sleep at 10 am. I care about nobody texting me and I care about sleeping for 3 weeks straight.
But I’ve just realised I’ve finally stopped caring you’re not on my recent call list, and you didn’t think of me in my darkest hour. I feel so free. I’ve shed you. I never even see you. I don’t even like you, I just want to be in a body that feels worth living in. You were never there for me, I’ve finally integrated.
Now I don’t even care if you call.
I’m probably sleeping anyway.
But I didn’t sleep today. I lived and I’m living. Writing words I want to mean something, listening to my top 100 songs of 2020 and they’re all so fucking sad.
Am I finally prepared for the summer sadness that hits every year?