Written by anonymous. Photograph by Giuliana Guarna (c2019).

What is it about a messy house
What is it about skipping the gym for one day
What is it about not talking to him at the time of night you usually talk to him
What is it about missing lunch yesterday
What is it about not showering in the morning
What is it about running out of body wash
What is it about seeing one fruit fly meander out of the garbage can
What is it about missing your pill last night
What is it about one thing going wrong

That unwinds the tangled ball of thread that is your life
That pushes you over the tipping point
              You didn’t even know you were at
That nudges you in the direction of hot mess
When you were just putting together a CV that said I’ve got my life together or at least I have high-functioning depression

When I’m at the clinic, I tell women that sleeping too much can mean depression
With the assumption that that’s not me – I sleep the societally acceptable amount of hours
Bouncing between the limits like some 90’s video game you played on your cell phone
But when I wake up at 5 PM
              Pressing snooze the 20th time since 7 AM
My muscles aching, rebelling against the stillness
My stomach growling like a dragon that needs to be fed
My brain exhausted from trying to wake me
The first thought I have is I’m sleeping too much
And of course, I know what that means
And of course, I can’t face it
And of course, I fall back asleep.

Something about order makes me feel like those days are just bad days
That the DSM is a game at which I’m winning
              Even as it tries to catch up – from 3, to 4, to V
Order makes me think I can handle it, this life thing
Order gives me the illusion of control,
              Even though of course, I’m never in control.
Even though of course, I’m never winning.
Even though of course, it isn’t just one bad day.