I feel lonely. Not alone- for I am surrounded by people, always- but lonely. I wouldn’t mind being alone- a bit of space, some trees perhaps? I’m looking forward to a few walks in the Dandenongs when placement finishes (five days to go, not that I’m counting or anything…). No, this current feeling is different from the peaceful solitude I choose to carve out when a break is needed.
This is blackness. This is night anxiety of a kind so debilitating that I lie there and wish, plead even, for death. Come, take me, away from this lingering middlespace. Plunge me into certainty of some kind, even if death is what it takes to get there. This reads like bad teenage poetry and I realise that, but it’s so hard to live through and harder to articulate.
The world is not the problem. My life is good. My future is good. But this second, right…..now…..? This is the burden and the shortness of breath and the isolation and the nothingisevergoingtogetbetter. I don’t want to exist in this. This moment. Or the next one. I float, dragged out of my head for the eight hours each day I am in public, to live upon the surface. (Inter)acting, smiling, working, getting through.
Then I come home and collapse. Pull the covers over. I want to cry but the tears don’t come. It’s all in my head, trapped. Help me, save me, let me go.