The lift

January 20, 2012

It is the strangest feeling when the pall lifts. Of course, there was a time when it simply didn’t, when the idea of eventually passing beyond the black into a space that might be bearable (let alone happy) figured as an impossibility, or simply failed to figure at all. These days I have my down-days, but they are discrete, delicate things that catch me in the morning when I’m weak with sleep and last only as long as the daylight.

Today was different in its severity.

I learned the difference between sadness and depression when I was away. When I am sad, I can pin the thing down. I can hold the sadness, find its point, press it. My sadnesses are responsive to things that happen around me, and I know this.

Depression is something entirely different. It is still, immoveable, pervasive. It has nothing to do with what might be going on outside me, but grows like a mould, expansive and unresponsive. Unlike sadness, depression is an emptiness of emotion, a loss of centre, a total reduction of place. People, things, become indefinite, remote. Hope becomes redundant, and with it, any appreciation of future or the passing of time. The worst thing about depression though, is that it is inarticulate.

I haven’t felt what I felt today in a long time. I don’t know where it came from; I don’t know where it goes. I don’t know how much of it is me and how much of it is my medication. All I know is that today was awful, and that after twelve and a half hours, my mind finally balanced around 10pm. That is, something lifted, and it is the most curious thing. You can almost feel the blankness, the hard bleakness fall away, like an old, pitted skin. Or rather, it doesn’t fall away as it falls up, lifts, leaves, fucks the hell off, thank god.

Mum says that she can see my face change, and knows when it has gone away.

My eyes are still swollen into little fists that hurt when I lie down. I’m frightened when I think of the possibility of having to deal with this dark little mould of mine indefinitely. But for now I’m just so pleased to be awake and alive and through with today.

I feel a bit guilty for the sudden and explicit change in blog-tone, but I needed a record that might remind me of this for next time. See Lucy, how it passes. How it is not endless. Because it is not you.

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3 Responses to “The lift”

  1. Brantley Says:

    I just wanted you to know that your book changed me. More so, the words in your book; feelings, thoughts, and emotions that you articulated that I have never been able to. We are close to the same age, I think, and according to what I learned about you from your book, we began struggling with an eating disorder and recovering about the same time as well. I still struggle with the bouts of sadness, and the depression drops in uninvitedly like an all-too familiar friend. However, I want you to know how wonderful you are, and how extremely talented and gifted you are. I want you to know that your book continues to help me know I am not alone in my awful thoughts and heavy emotions at times. Either way, I am thankful for your recovery, and I am thankful for your boldness to write down and publish the things you did. Not just things, but REAL and HONEST things. You deserve the best of life. Keep fighting through the bad days, because you serve as a light and inspiration to girls all around the world, including me. I wish to let you know, though, you are not alone either. You have a friend in all your fans who wish you the best. I would love to one day have the opportunity to meet you!

    Brantley
    Age 22
    Charlotte, NC
    United States

  2. Beth Prewitt Says:

    Agh. This killed me a little. You always know how to put emotions so impeccably into words. I know these feelings too well, that creeping, encompassing mold.

    I’m so glad it left you. Sending you all the hugs that ever were and ever will be. xoxo


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