Now---where was I? pt. 2

You ain’t know you going there until you get there.

Some though, never realise that they’s really, truly in there. In fact, they think that that is what life is all about, they ain’t know it can be different. So they accept it as their kismet, their fate, to be in a place like that, and they do nothing to get out.

Others know but they ain’t got the skill or the will to get out. Inside, they don’t see the bits ‘n’ pieces of paper, plastic and dust huddling behind settees. If they notice, they might think, tomorrow they gon sweep. Tomorrow, of course, is a never-ever time. Outside, they let fall-down green leaves turn brown and dry on the front patio then cobwebs stitch them leaves together to keep them still.

And you got other folks who, on a subconscious level, recognise that this ain’t a good place to be; they do whatever they can to haul theyself out.

Every now and then I slip into that place but I haul meself out. Looking back, I then realise exactly where I been.

Emotionally, everybody experience this place differently. Some eat more than usual; some go into starvation mode. Some just get numb and move through the days in a daze. I experience it on two planes.

On one plane I eat, laugh, play, chat, work on craft, go about me chores as per normal. On another plane I sit quiet on the settee facing the tee vee which is switched off. I stare at the tree outside, thumb and forefinger pinching me top lip, folding it in a crease, unfold. Sometimes, anxiety does nip like them almost-invisible li’l sugar ants. Nip, itch, scratch. Scratchety. I does get scratchety, snapping about li’l things. Pick a fight, any fight.

I ain’t know the name for this place. Ain’t depression or the blues. It is that dull, dreary place where things grind to a halt in your head, things doing nothing, going nowhere. It is that place where fallow-land don’t mean rest until you’s ready to sow, reap again; there, fallow mean dry, hot, empty. Even though outside of your house the rain pouring so hard the land flood.

I guess you can call it the doldrums. Stasis. Limbo-land. I end up there through a series of mishaps, after the visitor enter we house mid-last year. Murphy, he name was, making everything that can go wrong, go wrong. Bad jinn, bad spirit, bad vibes some would say he bring.