The sand in the small square room piles in from the top. I cannot tell how it is entering the room, just that it keeps coming. The walls continuing to grow higher with sand until I have trouble separating what is sand and what is wall. I can feel myself growing smaller in the room. Trying to claw my way up the sand, but slipping on its surface with any progress.
The sand starts to pile around me, my body grows heavier, the sand pulls my limbs back down with each micro-movement I make. Eventually, I just stop. Laying in the sand, I let the weight of the sand curl into me. Filling all the empty spaces in and around me.
The sand starts to creep up my feet, legs, arms, chest, head, bringing a much-needed comfort. I have no reason to move, I have no reason to breathe air, I have no reason to be anything but part of the sand. Layers keep stacking onto of me, making it impossible to move. I am snuggled down.
I feel safe and okay under the layers of sand. I spend most of my days buried under the sand. Ignoring all the voices that blur into each grain of sand.
The beginning of this week was extremely hard for me. I did nothing but stay in bed. This isn’t something that was just brought on all of a sudden. Its been something that’s been building for about two years now, and probably longer than that. I could list out right now all the reasons that have led me to feel depressed, but it would just be a list of reasons. It would be excusing away the core reasons I have been so down.
I bet most people who read this post that know me, wouldn’t ever have associated the word depressed with me. More commonly I get full of life, outgoing, fun girl to hang around, always out having fun.
I think I still am the girl who loves to have fun and go out, but its gotten harder to make the conscious effort to have fun. It used to not feel like a choice to go out and try things, to go out and party, or just have a good time and be around people.
I now feel like it’s easier to just to stay in bed all day. I want to have friends and keep relationships but I also have trouble picking up my phone to make plans. I want to be a successful writer but I have trouble sitting in front of the computer to write. I want to enjoy life but I have trouble putting myself in the world to experience it.
I thought moving back to Texas would be a really great idea. And in a lot of respects, it was. I love Texas. But in some regards its not been easy. I feel like a little kid again. Minus the color of the walls, my room looks the same as when I graduated high school. The way I feel when my parents enter my room feels like I am fourteen again. Having to share a bathroom with my brother and fight over counter space feels like I am sixteen again. Not feeling like I have friends close by feels like I am eighteen again and ready to leave my parents house to start new.
This moment in time I have no f’ing idea who I am. I have no f’ing idea where I am going. I have no f’ing idea if I should stay or if I should go. I have no f’ing motivation to clean my room. I have no f’ing motivation most of the time to write. I have no f’ing motivation wake up each day and find a new purpose.
Right now in this moment, I don’t feel comfortable. I haven’t felt comfortable for a long time. I still feel like I am running in the opposite direction from where I am supposed to be running.
I am trying really hard right now to find a way to get myself out of the blanket of sand I am under. I am trying to find the ability to want to put myself back out into the world. I am really trying, but most days I struggle to find the reason I am supposed to get out of bed, brush my teeth, put on clothes, not stare at my bed longingly, and enter the world.