COMING UP FOR AIR
Undated, 2023
For the last two and a half years, I have been essentially dead. A shambling corpse, not even aware it's past the ‘best used-by’ date. I was drowning, and I’m only now, coming up for air. I’d hate to use the phrase, “it’s like a fog has lifted,” so I won’t.
Not that the drowning analogy is more original, but I digress.
If I really had to describe the feeling, I’d say it’s like the few moments after getting gut-punched. The worst of it is over but you’re still pulling desperate breaths.
You keep trying to catch your breath.
This brings me back to those echoes I spoke of. Coming up for air is just the first step on my road to recovery, which is good. But I’m still wading through the water. I’m still adrift out there, floating in uncertainty, precariously making my way to shore.
It’s quite different from how most people would describe getting out of a depressed state. Or at least, I think it is. I’ve always imagined it being like a switch. One minute you’re drowning and the next you’re… not. I’d never truly appreciated the… continuance… of it.
I guess this is the difference between a sickness of the mind and one of the body. Once my body kicks something, there are usually no traces of that something left.
Not so for this.
My despair has always had an infectious quality to it. Quietly seeping into every other aspect of my existence.
Sometimes in subtle ways, sometimes in not so subtle ways.
