I’m in a dead zone at the moment. A grey space. It is not lethargy or despair, but an undefined realm of confusion and dismay. No misery, just bleakness.
I would say to others, all these small things needn’t cause too much concern. Dirt, mess, dodgy finances, poor diet, lack of sleep - they can be dealt with: break them down, do a bit, don’t feel too bad, accept your fallibility. But for myself, I cannot. I didn’t mow the lawn today, and it chills me. A quickening of the heartrate, a mild nausea. The same for everything else. I can just about keep on top of the simplest, most essential chores - washing myself occasionally, and my clothes, cooking and loading the dishwasher. Just getting out of bed, making some coffee, not spiralling off into the wilderness - this is what I can do. But I can see the other things, that I did before, and they seem as far away as a dream. The yellowing leaves beyond the window may as well be a fiction - I cannot touch them. I can’t go outside and walk under them, I can’t get a train, I can’t visit the places I remember. I see other lives, and although people are often quick to remind me that what you see is not what you get, it is clear that they are managing better.
Perhaps it’s just that those like me are largely silent. The darkest times are the hardest to share. Or maybe it really is as bad as it feels, and I am already dead in all the ways that matter. The worst kind of afterlife, seeing the world but unable to touch it.
And still the days pass, ever more quickly. And time I could have enjoyed I have merely endured.
