Every morning, I wake up with a little grey monster seated on my chest.
He starts the day being small, but he’s supermassive.
It’s easier to try to ignore him, because he seems so small compared to the day that awaits, but he’s heavy.
Sometimes I feel like I’m carrying the weight of a thousand elephants.
Sometimes, I feel like it’s making a hole through my chest.
Sometimes, he makes hard to see, and all the colours seem to fade.
Sometimes, he makes me numb.
Then, I start my day with a cup of Coke and four magic pils.
They told me that these pils would make me feel better, but I’ve been taking them for more years than I can count and I can’t tell if I feel better or if I’ve just got used to feeling like this.
During the day, my grey monster always finds ways to be noticed. He grows in a coordinated rhythm with the clock.
The more the hours go by, more grey the monster makes me feel.
Every night I beg my grey monster to let me to go sleep.
He never agrees without reminding me of every little mistake I’ve made. Then he tries to make me feel anxious, paranoid, worried.
He always succeeds.
And then I fall asleep, exhausted.
— AND IN THE MORNING, he is there again.