State of Mind
By Christine Macdonald
1
Slipping through four wheeled strangers crawling in a sea of asphalt, mydrive from the office is arduous.
Hold
on.
Just
one
more
block.
Turning left on my street, I unbuckle the seatbelt across my chest. I allow asigh within the walls of my lungs; she clings tightly to the fear. It’s a welcomeelief to get one out.r When I arrive home, the rubble of my life serves up equal parts comfort and disgust. Piles of dirty laundry cover the floor and stacks of papers blanket my coffee table. The kitchen countertops work as a nesting place for emptywine bottles, dirty dishes and unopened mail.There is a slight odor weaving its way up to my nostrils and I can’t tell if it’scoming from my skin, my scalp, or the basic parameter of the area. Ashamed, Idon’t have the strength (or desire) to investigate further. I undress and climbin to my unmade bed.
2
If I only knew what it was, what I could do. If I only took a shower, didlaundry, washed the dishes, went for a walk or had a piece of chicken (that last ne’s from mom). If only.o Through the darkness of my room, outside my bedroom window I seesunlight playing hide and seek with the leaves of a palm in the breeze.Children playing on the street compete with the crashing waves echoing in thedistance.
That
is
what
life
feels
like.
I don’t have the energy to cry. The guilt of feeling depressed isepressing. I want to evaporate.d
“So tell me.” Her voice was soft. “Why are you calling?”
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State of Mind
Ever wonder what goes on in the mind of an ex-stripper? Here's a little glimpse of my struggle with clinical depression - after the music dies.
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