In My Trench

I have been in this trench for a while. I can see the sky as a grey slit above me, as I dig back into the wall of the trench and close my eyes.

On occasion, I have worked my way out, up to my knees, sometimes up on my feet - I have gulped the air I could before my knees gave out. I get bursts of fresh air and views of the sky as I then retreat into the wall that is now shaped like my curled body. The space is snug, and calm, and quiet, and safe.

Every once in a while, when I am crouched, or standing up, the air clicks off something in my head keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing and I am able to stand, then climb my way out. I am able to move, breathe, even smile through my hour, day, week, month, until the wisps of doubt start to seep in. Then the momentum slows and I am sinking again into the trench for a minute or a week. Once, it was a few months.

January is always a trial. In my neck of the woods, the color becomes drab, the temp drops, and the sun becomes a high commodity. After the frenetic holidays are over, settling in usually takes the form of depression for me. My body resists energy, and my mind is overtaken with negativity: shame, doubt, fear, hopelessness. There’s never enough sleep. The trench is narrow and deep: built to my specifications.

It doesn’t all happen at once. Fine filaments of dread work their way into my psyche and embed. They gather and wait. Then one day, I find myself checking the trench for supplies. On another day, I go in and check it out for wear and tear. One day I just stay.

It’s easier, really, than facing everyone I have to fail for an undetermined amount of time. My husband. My 15 month old son. My coworkers and boss. It’s self preservation to the point of hibernation. The motions that make up my days become Herculean efforts, draining my resources. Then sleep, and the need to be on autopilot to conduct myself: showerhairdressdriveworkeatworkdriveeatsleep. Repeat. Saturday: sleep. Sunday: Detach. Rest. Monday: repeat.

The sounds of my life without me go on above me- near the air and the sky. From there, I hear but don’t see my son learning words and my husband making and cleaning up dinner. I hear the strains of my husband and son giggling together, reading The Monster at the End of This Book. I can discern the dancing nails of my long-ignored but still loyal dog. My cats enable me by curling up in the trench with me.

I’m the bread winner in our family, + Mom, + Wife. My husband is handsome, sexy, loving and supportive. My son is fantastically funny and smart. They both adore me without question. My life goes on without me, but I don’t - can’t - participate or engage.

Not until I can work my way out of the trench, which will happen. I will wake up one morning and keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing won’t be needed. I will gladly welcome myself back.

The air will fill my lungs, I will stand up, and crawl my way into my life again.