Crashing

January is always a tough month.

Throw in the lingering effects of the pandemic, the fact it is the anniversary of my grandfather's death, and the ever more pessimistic daily news reports, and it seems to be one of the hardest on record.

My mental health journey has been a long and exhausting one. I'm doing well these days. My anxiety is under control and occassional bouts of depression tend to pass quickly.

When the darkness does inevitably find me in pockets of vulnerability, it strikes quickly and often with very little in the way of warning. I practice self-care routines to level myself out and find ways to move on.

I appreciate I am one of the lucky ones.

My brothers and sisters who spend more time in the dark than the light have my full condolences and I pray that you find the help that you need to recover. Remember you matter. You are loved and you are important...

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In my latest bout of darkness, I happened to be sitting in spin class; a weekly attempt at keeping my body and mind at ease. I can't say why it happened, or even what triggered it, but when I got home I scrawled my feelings down on a notepad.

Usually I would just throw it away and forget about it. But this time, the words that came spewing from my brain to the paper were theraputic and comforting. I finally managed to find a voice for the darkness.

I publish it below, not for entertainment or enjoyment, but hopefully to capture what it feels like, in the hope that some other twenty-something knows that when it happens to them they are not alone. And can understand that things do get better; no matter how long the depression lasts or how much it hurts.

Grammatically, the poem (I never intended it to be a poem, but that's the form it has ultimately taken) is imperfect. But I leave the raw and unedited version below, knowing that this imperfection ultimately enhances the underlying theme, and captures a true snapshot in time of a dark and intense moment of unsettledness.

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Crashing

Sometimes I crash.

It’s not grumpiness or sadness or anger or anything in between.

It’s crashing, like a wave against a cliff face, striking against the rock, eroding the sandstone.

It’s a hand reaching down my throat, depriving me of breath.

It’s the tears filling up behind my eyes.

But they don’t fall, because my masculinity is fragile and I won’t let my fiancé see me cry.

It’s a brokenness. A cup three quarters empty. A hole in my gut that no flesh can fill.

It’s like a fish drowning. It’s lungs filling with water. Meandering down the stream against the current.

It’s feeling scared; of what is hard to say. A shadow lingering behind me.

An "unknowness". A weight pressing down on my shoulders and my back.

It comes out of nowhere. The light slowly darkening from the edges in.

It’ll last days and I don’t know how to stop it.

I’ve done the breathing exercises, the rubber bands, the meditations.

But any hole in my brain that I can fill with anything else is quickly destroyed by it.

It’s a battle, and I’m losing. It will probably get better. It has every time so far.

But I feel weaker every time. My bones and muscles collapsing under the weight of expectation.

The expectations I set for myself, or my family, friends, colleagues and bosses.

I’m relied upon and reliable.

But I’m tired and I probably need help. A gasp of air stopping me from drowning.

I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t concentrate on work, can’t feel.

I feel nothing and it feels painful.

I’m sorry.

I’m trying.