A slight meltdown
I have become overly sensitive. I seem to be able to hear everything in the room - the faint whirr of computers below the clatter of a space bar, a deep booming voice asking questions down a telephone, the ticking of a mouse button, speech on an almost-silent radio, a pencil tinkling against the wooden desk, laughter from 30 feet away, a door shutting magnetically closed, something being screwed up and thrown in a bin, another door opening, then closing, footsteps on carpet, the dim slushy sound of traffic in the road outside... all of it pressing, pressing on the sides of my head, not leaving me alone. Do I want to be left alone? I do and I don't. A little meltdown. Let it not be this any more, but let it be this forever, and only this... rather this than the alternative, the nothingness, the void.
"Hang on, I'll just put you on hold..."
The light is dark outside. Dark, and heavy. The heavy light. The grime seems to be everywhere, on the faces of people as they walk past, looking, gazing, staring past, not at anyone or anything; just into the cloud of middle distance, that place that is safe, which won't look back.
More fingers on keyboards. A flashing light on a telephone. Never going to answer it; never going to answer it.
How much longer? Let it be soon. Let it be never. Let me stay here, where it's warm, where it's easy, where I know what I'm doing, where I'm settled, where I have enough money. Let me leave here now, and take my chances. Let me be kicked out; let me fend for myself; let me stay here, as part of the furniture, which I've become. I want all of it, and none of it. Let me dream on. Let me forget.
The room hums, not with energy, but something else, maybe the opposite of energy. This is not an office, this is Adlestrop - this is a place between two places, where I have ended up, unwontedly; this is where I am waiting, before I move along, between the past and the future. All those dreams, all those hopes, and now they're really fading away, really fading, replaced by nothing except uncertainty. The beauty of uncertainty? Just the shape of it. It feels like nothing. It is frightening, exciting, colourless, everywhere, nowhere.
Oh don't let it be like this. Don't let it be like this, the thumping heart of anxiety; don't let it be like this. Let me be confident, and bold, and walk with my head tipped up high. Let me get out of here, and for everything to be all right. Whatever else, don't let me feel sorry for myself, don't let me drown in the inky black cold sea of self-pity. Drag me out of there, and slap me, and make me feel safe. Hurt. Anything but self-pitying.
Sometimes it feels like I'm falling, not perilously, but slowly, like a plane descending, but I don't know where it's going to land. This could be anywhere, and it could feel like anything. But I don't have any choice. I only have the choice to wait, and be patient, and do everything I can do to make things better. Be patient, be calm... but I feel like shouting. I feel like screaming, and thumping my hands into the stupid faded brown threadbare office carpet, and wailing, and despairing. But I don't. I just sit, and type. Type this, type anything. Wait for the phone call that doesn't come. Wait for the moment that doesn't arrive. Wait, wait, wait. Oh please let it be better than this. Please let me get through this.
Please.
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About Me
Hello. I'm a Bristol-based writer and soon-to-be-redundant journalist. You can read more about me and the Enemies site here, or follow me on Twitter. Email me if you like - antonvowl at live dot co dot uk
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February 28th, 2011 - 16:30
You alright there, Anton old chap?…..
February 28th, 2011 - 17:44
Are you OK?
Hang in there, it really does get better.
February 28th, 2011 - 18:16
Isn’t it funny how a total stranger can so well sum up how you feel. It’s, for me, the beauty of the internet – the proof that whatever is going on for you, you’re not alone. I’ve recently returned to work after a long period of sick leave arising from depression. I thought I was OK – I wasn’t. I’ve had to double my medication, see a counsellor, have countless blood tests to see if there’s anything else going on. And Christ, I’m sick to death of it. I’m sick of feeling like it. I’m sick of being defined by it. I have money worries, I’m trying to find another job and it’s just all such a bloody effort. I just want to put it down somewhere – send it floating off like those (for me) useless imagery exercises counsellors make you do.
I feel for you, so much. I know from my own experience that there aren’t words that make a difference. If you’re like me, you KNOW it will get better – that’s not your problem. The problem is in believing it. It will pass, though. Eventually it will. Sometimes eventually feels like a very long way away.
The best I can offer is that you’re not alone. That thought helps me, and I hope it does you too. I offered an ear via Twitter – please do use it if you wish.
February 28th, 2011 - 19:16
I don’t know what to say except that yours is the first site I click on each day. I do so because your blog represents, to me, goodness, as opposed to the media, which represents the opposite. What you do helps me and almost certainly helps others. I don’t know you. Probably never will know you. But I feel like I do. I’ve been worried about you. You haven’t posted anything for almost a fortnight and I’ve suspected that something was wrong. You’re not alone though. Most of the folks who read your blog may not know you but I’m sure that most of them really do give a fuck about you. Words may not help you but the fact that your followers are concerned about you will, I hope, give you comfort. Take care. xxxx
March 1st, 2011 - 12:02
George here has summed up everything I wanted to say.
keep it together dude.
February 28th, 2011 - 20:27
Missed you these past days. More people care than you think. Better must come.
February 28th, 2011 - 20:55
Don’t implode! No matter how hard, lift your head, keep writing. You do have worth, you do have value. As George says, I click on this site everyday and I miss it when it hasn’t been updated. You have a talent to cut through the dross and the banality and nastiness. I don’t always agree but your input is valued.
March 1st, 2011 - 00:30
I have read your work and know that this is probably derived from your current circumstances but I feel I must say that this is an utterly beautiful introspective. I find it inspiring and moving to hear you grappling with thoughts and feelings I know I would be unable to express. I feel sorrow for your evident pain, so resonant but I am in awe of your immense talent as a writer. I look forward to seeing how the overwhelming uncertainty begins to take shape around you.
March 1st, 2011 - 01:24
I don’t have anything to say that can help. What you’ve written is crushingly effective. It’s compelling despite being such a melancholy piece.
March 1st, 2011 - 01:45
You’ve said it yourself: it gets better. I’ve been there, and at times it doesn’t seem possible that things could be any worse: trust me, they always could. Words when you’re feeling like this often seem to lose meaning, or at least I’ve found, and only you truly know what you’re going through; just know that despite that, you’re not alone.
March 1st, 2011 - 09:11
As the others have said I read you every day and greatly appreciate your dedication to exposing what lies behind events. You’ve an intelligence and an ability to express what needs to be said to help us to read and understand better. You add greatly to the debate we need if we are to see what’s happening.
March 1st, 2011 - 09:11
Don’t panic Anton, don’t panic! Keep up the excellent work.
March 1st, 2011 - 09:58
Yeah, hang in there, Anton. Heeding your own advice is the hardest thing to do, but remember that you posted so eloquently that this will pass and it will get better. Like these others, I regularly read your stuff and think it very fine.
March 1st, 2011 - 13:32
I concur with Alan – I’ve really missed reading your insights the past few days – but more than that I just hope you are OK. Take care of yourself…
March 1st, 2011 - 15:31
Hang in there. This too shall pass.
March 1st, 2011 - 23:21
Oh, I completely sympathise. Hang on in there, thing’s *will* get better! I know everyone says that and when you’re in a bad place it can get pretty boring hearing it all the time, but it’s so true.
I lost my job during the initial banking brouhaha back in ’08 (working as a secretary in an investment bank- I was last in, so first out). I ended up temping for a while, and although I knew I was lucky to have any work at all compared to other people it was still an incredibly depressing and demoralising experience. I remember sitting in my doctor’s surgery when I went to speak to her about how I was feeling and the possibility of going back on anti-depressants- literally the moment she asked what the matter was I just burst into tears. I felt so daft…
I’m now just about to leave my current job to change careers, which is scary but also pretty exciting. From what I’ve seen of your work, you seem to be entering a new phase as well. It’s frightening I know, but I’m sure you’ll be fine. Hang on in there!
March 2nd, 2011 - 07:36
It IS like an aeroplane descending. You have your hand on the throttle quadrant. You can descend or you can soar as you wish. You can use full power or some part of that full power. You can use one engine or all four.
The crux is that it’s up to you; you are in control. You can do what you like with your fuel, but you will need fuel… that comes from a mindset. Get yourself straight. You’re an inspirational person who produces insightful work, otherwise I wouldn’t bother reading your blog. If you didn’t write any more, my life would be a little less rich, a lot less well-informed. I’m relying on you.
(I always find that reading a little Richard Bach helps in dark times).
March 2nd, 2011 - 09:58
As medical science advances, the one thing which doesn’t change is the time needed for the body and mind to recover. Sometimes the best approach is very difficult: do nothing and wait.
March 3rd, 2011 - 12:03
Blimey.