I have no idea where it came from, and no idea what caused it. But here I am. Totally and absolutely dead flat. But this time it’s weird. It’s like a melancholic acceptance of there being no future. But no, it’s not even that. I’m actually quite enjoying the moment. I feel at peace with the world. I feel in touch with nature. Cliches. Mmm. It’s been a strange few days.
It started with a rush of physical illness. As if i’d had one too many drinks - which I hadn’t. I’d been on top of the world. Felt great. Really chipper in fact. Enjoying the simple pleasure of a walk in a foreign land. Pleasant temperature, the sight of sun trying to break through the clouds. Not a care.
Sure the restaurant was overly warm, but I don’t that could explain the sense of nausea that seemingly pushed the walls towards me. Boxing me in until I had to leave for some air. Outside I steadied myself against a pillar, but found it did little to prevent the waves sloshing from one side of my head to the other. By this time, the nausea had begun to gnaw at my mind, inducing paranoia and panic that caused my thoughts to race into a frenzied cycle of something fearsome but at the same time too foggy to recognise.
The nausea has lifted, but the fog remains. How so? I don’t get it.
I am an artist. Art is my outlet, my therapy, my comfort blanket. But even that holds no appeal. All I want to do is lie down. And think. Not lie down and sleep. Lie down and think. About what I’m not sure. I don’t recognise it as the depression from which I ‘suffer’. I don’t have any of the normal feelings of helplessness, hopelessness or worthlessness. More a complete depletion of mental energy. As if I’ve exhausted all avenues of thought. Like I’ve reached the end of a text book. Or the end of an exam. Yes, that’s exactly it. Like I’ve reached the end of an exam. I’ve answered all the questions, checked and re-checked the answers and concluded there is nothing more I can do. I did all the reading required. All the preparation and more. The curriculum has been my life for more years than I even realise myself. It has become part of me. And so I should feel great, right? A huge sense of relief.
But I don’t. I feel flat and empty. Like I’ve crafted a key to the door, but it doesn’t open the lock. And I want to open the lock. I have to open the lock.
But what can I do? Should I admit defeat and walk away? Should I keep trying with the same key hoping that it eventually works? Should I make another key? Or should I realise someone first needs to remove the key on the other side?