It needs to be addressed that this ‘story’ is markedly different from any of the others I’ve penned. And despite sharing the same indiscriminate use of metaphors, I’d like to emphasise that what you’re about to read is in no way disingenuous. Nor am I trying to romanticise mental health. I’ve always been someone who relates through metaphors, and lean on them heavily when trying to explain difficult concepts. Finally, I acknowledge I’m in a tremendous position of privilege to even be able to write this. The fact I’m not only able to address it, but address it in a semi-public forum, means that I’ve reached a level of comfort that many people won’t share. By all means, if this is you, feel free to stop reading. Or if you keep reading, and don’t like it, let me know. The last thing I want is for my privilege to harm anyone.
You crash below the surface, the waves seamlessly reforming, entombing you within.
Enveloped in an all-encompassing darkness, a binding of emptiness which seems to anaesthetise your consciousness.
But far from idyllic, the void of sensation is the most excruciating agony of all.
You can’t scream. You can barely move, as the pressure from all sides crushes you into a trembling foetal ball.
You know the only respite is venturing even further down the rabbit hole, beyond the facade of…
