Trapped in the China Shop

Steam had left the bathroom mirror opaque, only a semi-distinct image could be seen as Erin’s reflection. Fancifully she held up her hands and mimed knocking, the result was it sort of looked as though a body was trapped under the ice of a frozen pond, half-heartedly trying to find a way out. Half-heartedly because she really didn’t feel as though she had the energy to fight any more.

With a frustrated swipe at the mirror the image that embodied the hopelessness she felt, was wiped away. All that was left was Erin’s reflection, in the harsh light, looking as it always did, as long as she didn’t look into her own eyes. She didn’t need to, to know what would be reflected, a miserable combination of sadness and emptiness. She hated when her eyes looked like that. They didn’t always, but often enough for her to recognize it as a sign of the internal battle she wished she wasn’t going through.

Taking hold of the sink, she breathed in deeply, counting to eight, holding the breath before slowly exhaling. This funk had lasted two days and she had really hoped getting up this morning would see the end of it. Even a shower to wash away the woeful dream hadn’t helped. The freaking grey cloud of misery was still floating around her head. Looking back at her reflection, Erin swore. She had a week off work and it was being wasted on this session of depression. She’d had plans for these days off and sitting around in a moping fit of lethargy where she had trouble even focusing on the book she was reading, hadn’t been part of it.

Even though she had just stepped out of the shower, her eyes ran over her work out gear. To hell with it, she thought, she really didn’t feel like doing anything physical, but dammit this thing hadn’t beaten her yet. It was her body and her life, she was going to take control even if it meant dragging herself every damn step of the way. Pulling on the sports bra, leggings and baggy t-shirt, she grabbed her socks and joggers. A run, or walk, may not break the back of this round of the funk, but at least she would feel like she was giving it a good smash in the face. Whilst she really didn’t feel as though there was any fight left in her she remembered a quote from one of her favourite tv shows, ‘when you can’t run anymore, you crawl…’. She hadn’t quite got to the crawling bit, but the point still stood.

Erin stepped onto the road, one foot in front of another, teeth gritted, a mantra of ‘I’m not dead yet, you won’t win,’ playing through her mind. As she thought it would, she hadn’t walked far before her body said, ‘is this pace all you’ve got?’ And without really questioning it, she started to run. One foot in front of the other. Her breathing irregular, fighting her.

She refused to give in. Dammit, it was her body and mind. It didn’t matter that she felt backed into a corner. Moving walls of rejection and despair closing in. Erin found that switch in her head that seemed to appear wherever she was boxed in, either by these thoughts of depression, or by the attitudes and actions of others. One foot in front of the other, she pushed on, telling the grey, it never seemed blue to her, to fuck off.

As she continued to move, panting her way to the top of the incline, the strangest image popped into her head. A bull backed into the corner of a china shop, pawing at the ground and snorting. She knew that was how she felt right in this moment, trapped and helpless, seeing no easy way out. It was an unlikely comparison but her brain made a connection for her. The stupid bull was a writing prompt she’d been struggling with when the funk threw the damn wall up and the words got stuck in some whirlpool limbo.

She had never before thought of this sort of image in relation to her mental health battles, but it seemed so apt. The creature was trapped in a shop, surrounded by valuables, and there was no way out without breaking something and making a whole lot of noise. Erin felt trapped by work related irritations, certain frustrations in her home life, and the growing feeling she could vanish from the world and it would have very little impact. Oh, she would never look for a way out, it wasn’t her thing. Her type of depression just liked to mess with her head, tell her she had no value, push the point she hadn’t achieved the things she had always thought she would. It constantly told her to give up on her dreams. Those voices were familiar to her, and she refused to let them win. She also knew that her type of depression wasn’t the same as other peoples, and considered herself lucky in that regard. Hers came in fits and starts, and as long as she could hold on the fact she would come out the other side, she always did. She knew it was harder for others, and for some it was medication that enabled them to manage it. It was this that sometimes made her wonder if she any right to even say she battled with the damn thing. In the darker moments she knew what it was, owned it and fought it in her way.

Reaching the highest point of her run/walk, she saw the bull as clear as anything and knew she was going to have to make some noise if she was going to get out of this cage. He pawed at the ground, looked her right in the eye and snorted. She looked right back at him, clenched her hands into fists and screamed into the cloudless sky, ‘Is this all you’ve got!’

Drawing in a breath, she pushed aside the crap from work, the negative self-thoughts and the desire to pull away from everyone and everything. With a big fuck you, to everything that was trying to be an obstacle in her way, she found her strength to fight one more day, and started her descent. The way home was longer than the distance she had already come and she knew she would spend a lot of that time repeating her mantra, but the bull would find its damn way out of that china shop, even if it had to make a little noise to do so.