I wasn’t sure whether to post this but was encouraged to by some good friends. To anyone who recognises any of this, hang onto the light and remember you are not alone, even though it may feel that way. You will get through it.
One breath at a time. Reach out and grab that rope. Love and light to all.
I. Am. Breathing.
I am still breathing. I’m not sure how.
I fell such a long way. Couldn’t stop myself, even though I tried. There didn’t seem to be anything to grab hold of, nothing to slow the fall.
It’s dark down here. I can’t move. My limbs are leaden and they’re aching like mad. But at least I can feel them.
And I am still breathing.
I should’ve been more careful, I suppose. Paid more attention. I could see the cracks, feel how things were becoming slippery. And they warn you, don’t they? Not to go too close to the edge? Be vigilant at all times. I didn’t realise that I was too close, not until it was too late.
I didn’t know that the crack was going to open up and swallow me whole.
It felt as though I was in freefall forever. Time’s funny like that; it loses its meaning when you’re spinning dizzily downwards in blackness, with every thought you’ve ever had plus a few extra for good measure clamouring for space in your head. You lose track of everything, even which way is up.
It was almost a relief to hit the bottom. Strange. I let sleep claim me even though I knew it was full of shadows. Maybe something worse.
But I am still breathing.
It’s so dark.
Tears start to spill now and I can’t stop them. I don’t even have the energy to wipe them away. Stupid. Stupid. As if they’re going to solve anything. But they keep coming anyway and after a while they’re like rain. I’ve learned to ignore the rain.
I can’t see anything.
I don’t think there’s a way out.
I’m so tired even though I must have slept for hours. Days maybe, or just minutes. I have no idea what the time is, what day it is even. That weird time anomaly again. It means nothing down here. I wonder if anyone’s missed me, even noticed that something’s different. I drag my hand up to my face and swipe at my eyes. The pain is excruciating. My head feels as if it might explode from the dark and the fear and the hurt.
I can’t stand it.
I don’t want to be here.
There. There! I see it, tiny but absolute. A point of light. I’m not imagining it.
You are in the room. You have lifted the duvet the littlest bit from where it covers my head.
“Hey, honey,” you say gently. “I’ve brought you a cup of tea. What else do you need?”
You have thrown me a rope. It’s the same rope you’ve been throwing me for months.
Today I’m going to grab it.
I am still breathing.