“I’ve scratched off every follicle,
I’ve even torn out teeth.
I’ve peeled away each layer of flesh
to find what’s underneath.”
I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again. There was a line drawn in the sand a long time ago which separated me from writing anything down. It feels as though there are too many obstacles now: unrelenting fear; crippling sadness; pointless trepidation; endless bouts of demotivating chaos; as well as a desire to live a life outside of a screen.
And yet, here we are. Again.
So much has happened since the last time I let myself just sit down and type. No noise, no distractions, no direction – just me and my thoughts. That, in itself, is terrifying. Why has it been so long? Have I been so worried to write because I don’t know what will come out? Is it a conscious effort to avoid writing in case I unearth some horrible truth which I had buried? Has it been the fear of being judged or alienated because my inner monologue doesn’t align with everyone else’s? Or is it just that the idea of being alone with my brain is enough to push me over the edge again? Maybe by the end of this, we’ll know why.
I have been struggling recently. It’s easy to ask for help now – this isn’t my first rodeo, believe it or not – but writing it down, immortalising it, is something else entirely. It’s not a phone call to your mum saying you’re feeling flat and it’s not a text to your friend asking for a wine and a catch up. It’s heavier. It’s vulnerable. And it’s ugly. It doesn’t matter how much we battle to rid our society of the stigma attached to mental health issues, there will always be some kind of reaction to the word “depression”. I often wonder how that feels for others. What comes to mind when you read that word?
For me, it’s become a bird. Somedays, the heaviest albatross around my neck. Others, a visiting robin who reminds me of a loved one. It can fly quietly, almost unrecognisably, in the back of my mind or it can soar over me, whipping up a maelstrom of chaos from underneath. It feels like something I am desperate to cage but it will always leaves feathers, just to remind me it’s never confined for long. Birds, to me, are freedom and life incarnate and so maybe that’s why I have attached them to my depression: that juxtaposition might help me to better understand that without darkness there can be no light.
I’ve been feeling small and that’s where my darkness resides. It’s become this overwhelming fear and sadness that I’m not taking up any space. No doubt born from a place of insecurity, it’s this voice telling me that I am insignificant. What space am I supposed to take up? Is there a limit to how “me” I am supposed to be? Should I be letting others know about my pain and hardships or should I be inviting them to celebrate my successes? What does that balance look like? There is a constant battle between being too much and not being enough and it’s a fine line which I have never learnt to tread. Retreating inwards on yourself truly is a double edged sword: you have time to refresh, recharge and reevaluate what is going on but you also separate yourself from those closest to you. Striving for connection and reeling from validation is just as jarring: with others around, you should feel more present but with that comes to the upkeep of extroversion and confidence which oftentimes is exhausting. Why are these grey areas of “being” so difficult to circumnavigate? Have you discovered your happy medium? I’m genuinely curious, and the slightest bit desperate, to know.
Some days, I feel everything and I feel it all through a magnifying glass. Overwhelming, encapsulating, all encompassing emotions – I feel them too much. Other days, I am just a husk: hollowed out and void, numb to existence. How can there be such a dichotomy in me? The transition from everything to nothing feels too swift and ruthless: blindsiding and breathtaking. The tide settles but the sea never stays calm for long.
Being left alone with these thoughts, and individually, it can feel like we are nothing. There is a word which seems to follow me around – sonder – which is defined as “the profound feeling of realising that everyone, including strangers passing in the street, has a life as complex as one’s own, which they are constantly living despite one’s personal lack of awareness of it.” It’s rare to find a word which so accurately sums up an entire sensation, let alone one which can incite feelings of isolation and union at the same time. Feeling alone in the world, being lost and broken, you are a grain of sand. But together, we can become a beach. Our cumulative experiences and journeys allow us to see that we are part of something much bigger; something which is only realised when we are together. I remind myself daily that we need people and that our connection drives us forward. We, as humans, are nothing and everything, all at once. It’s weathering the storms of nothingness and embracing those moments of everything which is the fight: a battle can be won, but wars can last a lifetime.
Maybe these feelings of insignificance will dissipate as soon as I click publish. Maybe these words are my way of taking up more space and maybe they’ll make you feel some type of way. Maybe I won’t feel this way a year from now. All I know is that something has shifted and I’m ready to talk again. I can only hope you’re still there to listen.
xo
HOW TO BE; 