Home for the weekend: a conversation with myself

By Mia Costales

The flicker of the TV from down the hall lit up my room just enough that I could still see the outline of my bookshelf in the corner. The flashes of light just barely illuminated the spines of books, dried flowers, a nesting doll my mom gifted me for a birthday so many years ago. It’s quiet, aside from the distant murmur of late night TV. Nights like these, I typically stay up pretty late. There isn’t much to do here other than hang out with my dogs or pester my mom while she’s working. And I can’t do either of those things because they’re all asleep. So instead, I conducted an interview with myself. 

Mia: Hi, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you here.

Mia: Yeah, I usually don’t come around here too often. It seems I only end up here in moments of crisis. 

Mia: Do you consider this a moment of crisis? Don’t you think that’s a bit of a reach? I mean, yeah it’s been a rough couple of weeks, but you’re still doing okay. 

Mia: I guess you’re right. It feels wrong to call this a moment of crisis. I just can’t seem to get out of my own head. That is why I’m talking to you; I’m exhausted. It’s been hard to get out of bed. I’ve been forcing myself to shower, brush my teeth, and eat. I’ve been skipping classes because I can’t leave my house, only to obsessively watch the clock in fits of guilt. I made the drive up to Mom’s in part so that I could get away from Humboldt. But I don’t know if coming up here is helping or hurting. 

Mia: I get that. It just feels a little self-indulgent to be so complicit in your pain. I know you are in pain, but lingering on it is only going to make it worse.

Mia: I don’t want to say that I’m complicit in my own pain or sadness, but I think a part of me is. This reminds me of when I first went on antidepressants. I didn’t necessarily feel sad or depressed or suicidal anymore; I didn’t really feel anything. The numbness was a completely new feeling and I wasn’t used to it. I was so used to being in pain that I almost kind of missed it; like, I had felt this for so long that it was a part of me, and without it I wasn’t the same. I hate when people say that their mental illness is what gives them their “sparkle.” I think that it can be really invalidating. There is nothing glamorous about not being able to get out of bed in the morning. When I’ve been wearing the same pajamas going on day six and I haven’t brushed my teeth, washed my hair or eaten a proper meal in days, I am the furthest thing from glamorous. 

Mia: What will happen when you’re no longer in pain?

Mia: I’m not really sure. What will happen if the pain never goes away?

Mia: You’ll continue living. Just as you are doing now. I know it’s not always easy to do that and I don’t know if it’ll ever get easier. But regardless of ease, you’ll go on. It might seem impossible to go on at one point or another, but then you’ll hang out with your friends, or call your mom, or see a cute dog in a car across the street, and for a moment, the pain will subside. 

Mia: Thanks for that. Same time tomorrow?

Mia: Always.