First posted on February 3, 2012 – only a couple months after my collapse – I wanted to explain what black hole depression felt like. The scary, dark places I’ve been going these last few months are black holish in nature.
During May – Mental Health [Awareness] Month, I hope to share my stories, to tell folks about life with/as mental illness.
Living in a Black Hole appears both as a reblog, and directs the reader to the original story – confusing. So. Next reblog, think I’ll cut and paste.
So, from Feb.3, 2012: living in a black hole cut & paste version
I don’t understand the all physics of a black hole. I know its created when a star goes supernova, and that it’s incredibly dense and thick, with gravitation forces beyond belief. No light escapes a black hole; I’m not sure that light even enters one. A black hole can swallow galaxies; today, it certainly has swallowed me.
If light is what’s positive, and the blackness of the hole that which is dark; with no light escaping, thinking, acting, doing, writing positive things is harder. It’s not like you can twirl faster and faster til the sadness, the tears, the tiredness, the negativity spins off like sparks in different directions BUT away from you. Rather, the denseness, the heaviness of the gravity attracts these things to you; attached to you like glue. If light can’t escape, can you?
With gravity that strong, and the hole so dense, I imagine that things “stick” to you. Certainly, nothing escapes from you like your tears, and your sadness. On the positive days, I might see a shimmer of light as the galaxies are drawn in light; an event horizon I might escape by; a wormhole towards the sun.
On the negative days, like today, it’s just the blackness that no amount of twirling can spin away. So, I wait to see if the meds work; if, by some magical spell or shift in the space-time continuum, I come flying out of the black hole burning bright like a shooting star that people make wishes on, like a comet with its tail of brilliant light. Until then, I live in a black hole. Maybe tomorrow, too.