30 AUG 2017

little things

‘do you ever look forward to little things?’ you ask as i thread my arm through yours. we turn in unison, and start to amble down the hill towards my house.

‘of course!’ i reply enthusiastically, ‘if i’m completely honest, the little things are all that keep me going sometimes.’ immediately after saying this, i silently reproach myself for responding so openly, and instead start to wonder what it was that prompted you to pose such a question in the first place.

‘what is it that you’re excited about in particular?’ i add after a few seconds of musing.

you take a moment to calculate a concise answer. i smile to myself.

‘i can’t wait to get home, watch the cricket highlights, and eat some hummus.’

a hearty laugh escapes me. you are just too sweet.

as we continue to walk, i find myself trying to work out exactly what it is that i am looking forward to. tears well up in my eyes as it dawns on me that i literally can’t think of anything. this realisation swirls around inside of my mind like a storm. the sheer mass of this psychological hurricane causes my head to droop wearily towards the ground.

by the time we reach my house, i am barely able to speak. my lips tremble horribly with each new word that they attempt to form, and after a while, i give up on talking entirely. when you eventually express your intent to head home, all i can do is nod. we embrace briefly, and you peel off excitedly into the night. cricket highlights and hummus await you, whereas i have no idea how the rest of my evening will pan out. i sigh. i feel so lonely.

i creep carefully up the gravel path so as not to wake anyone in the building. as i unlock the door and slowly push it open, its hinges cry out in pain. this sound is enough to send reams of eager tears streaming down my cheeks. i bite my lip hard in a desperate attempt to hold it together. balling is too loud an activity to undertake when you live with other people. i might feel lonely, but i am far from alone.

at this moment, i hear a beak from the top of the stairs. i look up instinctively, and hope that it isn’t a disgruntled member of my family. luckily, it is only my cat. she must have heard me sneaking in. upon seeing me struggle to remove my shoes in the inky blackness, she bounds down the stairs and starts purring profusely. her soft fur tickles my ankles as she circles my feet.

my own words return to me as i beam down at the little face that is looking up at me expectantly.

‘if i’m completely honest, the little things are all that keep me going sometimes.’


17 AUG 2017


is it just me who sees all of this green
i think this is the loveliest parade
of bright and startling shades
that i have ever seen
and yet
as i turn in glee
expecting similarly joyous faces to be greeting me
all i see
is faces looking at the ground
engrossed in scrolling down
their grey metallic screens

22 JUN 2017


it’s now june and i just tried to type 2016 in the title of this post.

i’ve made this sort of mistake innumerable times before. numbers don’t feel real to me, and they never really have.

i know this because, after eagerly volunteering to hold a hawk at a bird show as a child, i told the host the wrong age when they asked me how old i was. my mother was mortified. i, however, was just happy to be so close to such a beautiful creature. eagles and falcons seem to do just fine without an awareness of their own age. at least i think they do.

i know this because the magnitude of events both current and historical doesn’t hit me when i read facts and statistics about them, regardless of how shocking i know them to be. it only hits me when i read the accounts of survivors and eyewitnesses. it only hits me when these happenings are communicated to me in an emotive way.

i know this because, despite how hard i try, i just can’t seem to get my head around economics. this frustrates me massively because i know how important this subject is. i could discuss identity politics until the gender-fluid cows come home, but as soon as talk of interest rates, inflation, gdp and debt creeps into a conversation, i feel my confidence implode and i fall silent.

i know this because, when i was creating a plan to help me come off of my antidepressants safely and gradually this month, i decided to decrease my dose by 75mg in one day.

now, due to my complete inability to translate numbers into reality, nothing feels real. it turns out that 75mg is a lot of antidepressant to cut down on in one go.

i know this because i have been seeing shades of blue and green on my vision for days. they dance around the room most every time i turn my head. whilst this was somewhat aesthetically pleasing at first, i can only withstand an optical barrage of turquoise for so long before i start worrying about my well being.

i know this because patterns warp and morph like illusions when i look at them for any notable length of time. my herringbone trousers gave me a headache yesterday. i haven’t even peeped at my knitwear collection recently out of fear that its sheer fruitiness would send me into an anxious tailspin.

i know this because when i smiled at someone in the street today and they didn’t grin at me in return, my first thought was that i must have died.

this sounds utterly absurd, but it’s the truth. these symptoms have been gradually chipping away at my hold on reality for the past week. when they have been at their worst, i have been completely incapacitated and left desperately pinching myself to try and bring myself back into the present moment. it’s been pretty shit. as scary as this has been, however, i know i will be just fine.

i know this because i always am.