Sink into the Floor

Sink.

I don’t know what my equivalent of the spoon gently tapping the inside of the teacup is, but right now I’m in the sunken place. The camera flashes in front of my face occasionally and a glimmer of myself shines through- I can see something resembling reality, I enjoy the odd moment, speak to friends and family. Mostly, though, I am watching everything going on around me with no power over it, dragging my feet along from one place to the next and waiting for the next flash.

In Get Out, Missy mentally tortures Chris while she hypnotises him with the spoon and teacup. As he is sent into the sunken place, he hears his greatest regret, his worst memory, the cataclysmic event he utterly blames himself for. I’m not trying to rewrite the understanding of a film so clearly rooted in systemic racial inequality in the US, but I can’t think of a better way to explain depression and panic attacks. Every worst fear, every insecurity, every shred of self doubt comes forward- it's like someone is recounting it to me constantly while I sink into the floor. Then, I see the things I love- film, books, friends, art, nights out, food, comedy- and all I can do is look at them blankly. I’m looking at them from a different place now. The things I usually love don’t matter, and things that never even registered on my radar before have become crushingly omnipresent priorities.

The sunken place tells you that black is white, up is down, friends are strangers. It makes every interaction feel different, every conversation forced. Everything is essentially an act until you can drag yourself back up to the surface again. It’s entering a different consciousness. You're a totally different person, but the person you are still exists somewhere deep below the surface with no control and no communication. Reality is seen through a new lens.

Sink.

Is this reality, though? Maybe the sunken place was where I was when I thought everything was going well and that everything I had done to improve things had paid off. Since around November last year, I’ve tried to be kinder, funnier, more adventurous, more interesting, a better friend, a better person. It looks on the surface as though a lot has changed and things have improved- I have a different job and I live in a new place. I’ve tried a lot of new things, met new people and had many experiences I would never have thought possible a year ago. But wherever you go, there you are.

Were things ever getting better? In the last six weeks or so, panic attacks have reached fever pitch again and it’s apparent that my usual positive mental attitude towards them isn’t solving anything. There’s only so many times you can think “there’s always tomorrow.”

Sink.

Because I thought things were improving, it’s difficult to accept that it never went away- it’s felt like an endless fall for a few weeks now. All I can do is watch and grab control of the very few things I have in my power. Right now, what looks like self-care is becoming more like self-punishment. Sleep, exercise, medication, makeup, food, alone time. It’s all done for the wrong reasons, and to excess. It’s like being a totally different person. Everything is upside down, all the things that make me who I am aren’t there any longer, everything is out of control.

I know I’ll have to break out of this spiral and I’ve done it before. I’m more than capable. But it’s quite comfy here once you get settled. Rather than pouring every drop of my energy into being well and then failing again, why not just stay here? Why not just stay sunken?

Because the camera flashes are worth it. Those moments of realisation that some good can be found are worth it. Fighting to escape is worth it. Being comfortable here isn’t an option, watching life happen and feeling out of control is no way to live. And when I crawl out of my sunken place, you better believe that bitch with the spoon is getting a Louboutin in the neck.