Breakdown

No one knows how anyone else feels, nor can one person explain how another will react to the same situation.

As such, this is a very personal account of how it felt to be me, in a way that I found more comfortable at the time, trying to bring a little light to the darkness through humour. I hope you enjoy.

They said I had a breakdown.

My clutch had gone, 

my gearshift wouldn’t shift.

They said I wasn’t mad.

Thank God.

Just a bit out of kilter,

a tad out of balance.

All stop.

No go.

They said it happens to most people,

At one time or another,

For one reason or another.

They said it was quite normal,

Although I didn’t feel normal,

Couldn’t remember normality.

They said,

“just a few pills

And you’ll be tickety-boo again.”

I was never tickety-boo before.

I didn’t want the pills.

The pills turned my brain to mush 

and broke the connection to my soul.

My surface felt much better,

Veneered, patched over.

Underneath was soggy chipboard,

rough, cheap, coming apart.

Not what it appeared to be.

The tablets made me appear like me.

But the truth kept screaming in my head.

I listened.

I was okay again - In my own time.

Not tickety-boo, but truly okay.

After I ripped off the veneer

And confronted the chipboard.

After I replaced it with good, solid beech.

After I’d oiled my clutch, shifted my gears,

Replenished my engine.

And thrown their tablets away.

Deb Hawken

Last century.