Don’t shut yourself out from the world

As I stand alone, a wind turbine turns beyond the window outside my room.

I find it’s movement monotonous but I watch the tips prick and reach for the fluffed edges of cloud.

But you seem so calm, collected, so well put together.

As I sit in the GP’s office alone, she tells me I seem so calm, so collected so well put together. I barely answer just smile slightly.

‘Is that a mask? A show?’ I start to feel vulnerable, the problem is I don’t want to be psycho-analysed. But I know she’s just doing what I’ve asked her to.

We talk about gloominess. Hopelessness. Inadequacy. Effects of these feelings on my life. Socially. On Work. On Education. And my subsequent answers -or rather jumbled responses- are scored on a sheet that minimises my emotions to a single ball point figure.

She asserts a name I can’t quite remember nor have I ever heard; a pill a prescription a mode of rebalancing the chemical levels in the body. And I can’t help but sit opposite her, almost alone, and wonder why I need this when other people don’t?

Let’s get out of here for a while

As I sit alone in the passenger side of my friend’s car, she drives me to an escape that I can’t seem to reach. I wonder if this gaping pit of emptiness inside me will ever subside.

I think of someone I have recently lost, who I don’t talk to anymore. I wonder if, as I hold them in my heart, if they too still think of me even though vast distance separates our bodies; two once connected hearts beating in different ends of the same land.

As I get home that night I sit alone, a wind turbine turns beyond the window outside my room. I cannot see it this time, it is masked behind blackened trees and before a teal sky, that merges eventually into aquatic blue.

. Back to basics

As I sit alone, 2 months later planning an essay I feel relatively confident about, I realise the cliche might just be on to something: it does get better. Time does heal or perhaps in response to time our bodies force us to heal. Either way I sit here, alone, yet more optimistic.

I think of the trees that incase turbines opposite my house. I think of how they refuse to stop turning, just like the world. I think of how beautifully hazy the sky looked last night just before the sun laid itself to rest, of its boundaries of blue and yellow and their slow goodbyes to the air. And as I sit here alone I tell myself that I am better now because I see the beauty in things I for some time was unable to see, that I overlooked and took for granted because of the banality of life in that moment. It gets better, I tell myself as I sit alone, remembering not to shut myself out from the world.

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