When Down, Trumps Up

Every so often, usually for no discernible reason, optimism and cheerfulness are abruptly extinguished by an opaque fog of numbness.

Limbs become sluggish in movement, as if encased in setting cement, and a band of nausea pulls tight with every breath.

Suddenly even the simplest tasks present insurmountable difficulty; and before long, the neglect of personal space and personal hygiene begin to testify to the previously undetected mental maelstrom.

Undetected from the outside, that is…

Inside, the brain whirs faster than usual but little of note gets done: it is  hard to build anything worthwhile from disjointed thoughts and negativity that probe the mind like invasive fingers, kneading perception and logic into a painful mush.

But effort has to be drawn from somewhere; for avoiding other people becomes of utmost and paranoid importance. Avoiding other people in a way that does not rouse suspicion, requires effort.

Waving, nodding, smiling, understanding, talking: they are all so difficult to fake. Cracks could be spotted at any time, and once spotted, bring forth that dreaded flood of concern:

“Are you ok? What’s the matter?”

What’s the matter? The matter is that I feel as if I have been flayed alive: the most delicate parts of myself laid wide open to the rawness of the elements.

The matter is that my own mind has taken against me, leaving me struggling to function on any level – physical, emotional, mental…

The matter is that I cannot stop imagining myself fleshily peeling away from these cumbersome limbs; tearing the essence of me from the torturous confusion of my brain and setting it free.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Because you know that if you sit tight, if you keep patiently telling yourself – this too will pass – then it will.

You do what you can, forgive yourself what you cannot and allow your mind to weary itself with its flights of fancy, safe in the knowledge that eventually it will pass.

In a day, or a week, or a month, it will pass.

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