The Mental Health Series

The Abyss

I stand on the edge. On the edge of an abyss. Just standing and watching.

I think I am waiting for something. But what?

I see nothing but darkness. No movement. No life.

But something is out there.

Something alive. But what?

I can’t move. Not that I’ve tried. But I know, in my bones.

Just as I know that I cannot speak, I can hear and see, though.

I hear the wind. But nothing moves. I can see the edge of the abyss.

But cannot call for anyone. I cannot move to escape the edge.

If I could move, where would I go? I know nothing else but this edge.

Are there other beings like me? Are they on the other side of the abyss? Or are they inside it?

How can I get to them? Or am I alone?

I want to know. I yearn to know.

Is it a test, standing here at the abyss edge?

Is there some knowledge I need?

If so, how would I get it when I cannot move?

Not even to turn my head or twitch a muscle.

I wonder what I look like. What am I? Who am I?

Where am I? When am I?

I can’t feel anything. But I try to focus and feel for things.

But I can’t. I want to. So badly. The wind sounds nice. I want to feel it.

I yearn to know what is out there.

I just know instinctively that there is something alive nearby, and I want to know it. I want to feel it. I want to speak to it.

Does it know me? Is it like me or different? How different?

I wish to know and devour the information. To feel whole again.

I wait. It seems like forever.

But I wait patiently.

I can see the time passing: the sun setting, the moon rising, the moon setting, and the sunrise.

It is beautiful to watch, but I wish that I can move to watch the passing or to get out of the bad weather.

When the clouds move overhead, and rain falls from the sky.

The times when thunderclaps sound and lightning flashes above me, I wish I can hide in shelter from it. But I can't.

Maybe, soon. It feels soon. Hopefully.

I've seen the sunrise three hundred and sixty-six times. A year and one day, some part of me whispers.

I can finally move. The first thing I do is move back before sitting.

I want to find the other living being out there but can’t move.

Again.

I want to move. I want to call to the being.

I hear muffled speaking. It sounds like I am underwater.

I try to respond but can’t. I feel like I am choking and quietly gasp for air.

I try to grab my throat, to curl up tighter. But I can’t and panic.

I can’t stop choking, and I can’t move to release the tension.

I need to move.

I need to breathe.

I need to get closer to the voice.

I need......

I gasp as I jerk.

My whole body hurts.

My chest is tight.

I feel sick to my stomach.

I uncurl from my spot.

Slowly relaxing my body. I can feel all the aches.

At least I can move again.

I look to the side to see my closest friend.

She watches me calmly. Patiently.

I slowly move to rest against her.

She, cautiously, rests her arm on my shoulders.

“What happened?”

“There was a fight, and when you tried to calm our friends down, someone else screamed at you. You shut down then. I moved you here and just talked to you.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Really, though. Thank you.”

“You help me all the time for little things. If I can be there for you during anxiety or panic attacks, then I will be.”

“You’re the best.”

She just hugs me tighter.

“We should get the idiots that got involved.”

“.... Fine.”

My body protests as we get up and grab our other two friends before leaving the park.

I wonder what I look like. What am I? Who am I?

Where am I? When am I?

I can’t feel anything. But I try to focus and feel for things. But I can’t. I want to. So badly. The wind sounds nice. I want to feel it.

I yearn to know what is out there. I just know instinctively that there is something alive nearby, and I want to know it. I want to feel it. I want to speak to it.

Does it know me? Is it like me or different? How different?

I wish to know and devour the information. To feel whole again.

I wait. It seems like forever. But I wait patiently.

I can see the time passing: the sun setting, the moon rising, the moon setting, and the sunrise.

It is beautiful to watch, but I wish that I can move to watch the passing or to get out of the bad weather. When the clouds move overhead, and rain falls from the sky.

The times when thunderclaps sound and lightning flashes above me, I wish I can hide in shelter from it. But I can't.

Maybe, soon. It feels soon. Hopefully.

I've seen the sunrise three hundred and sixty-six times. A year and one day, some part of me whispers.

I can finally move. The first thing I do is move back before sitting.

I want to find the other living being out there but can’t move.

Again.

I want to move. I want to respond to the being. I hear muffled speaking. It sounds like I am underwater.

I try to respond but can’t. I feel like I am choking and quietly gasp for air.

I try to grab my throat, to curl up tighter. But I can’t and panic.

I can’t stop choking, and I can’t move to release the tension.

I need to move.

I need to breathe.

I need to get closer to the voice.

I need......

I gasp as I jerk.

My whole body hurts.

My chest is tight.

I feel sick to my stomach.

I uncurl from my spot.

Slowly relaxing my body. I can feel all the aches.

At least I can move again.

I look to the side to see my dearest friend.

She watches me calmly.

I slowly move to rest against her.

She, cautiously, rests her arm on my shoulders.

“What happened?”

“There was a fight, and when you tried to calm our friends down, someone else screamed at you. I moved you here and just talked to you.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Really, though. Thank you.”

“You help me all the time for little things. If I can be there for you during anxiety or panic attacks, then I will be.”

“You’re the best.”

She just hugs me tighter.

“We should get the idiots that got involved.”

“.... Fine.”

My body protests as we get up and grab our other two friends before leaving the park.