For any of you following me on Twitter, you might already know that my life is a bit of a shambles at the moment. Alternatively, you might have guessed from the subject of the last newsletter, and the fact it’s been two weeks too long for this one to arrive.

In an extremely unfortunate series of events, I’m still looking for a home but now I’m poorer, my cat isn’t currently with me, and I’ve got less time than before until I’m officially homeless again. At this point, I’m laughing. The stress, the insomnia, and the grief are chronic - but in the moments when I can breathe, I smile. My life has always been a bit extra and wholly unstable. This is just another chunk of it.
So instead of writing about one of the myriad of things going wrong - and which I have no control over - I’m writing about finding your feet when it feels like you’re floating. Most days, I feel detached. Where I’m currently living feels fake. It feels fake to go into work and pretend I’ve got my shit together. It feels fake to laugh and smile with friends when my heart is breaking.
It feels fake, but it isn’t.
I recently watched a film called Daphne. One of the characters sums up the film - and depression - with one line: “Your actions matter, even if they’re bullshit.”
My day job feels like bullshit but the structure and routine help me to stay grounded. Hanging out with good people feels like bullshit but it’s a reminder of the positive shit in my life. It’s an opportunity to feel free, even if it’s only temporary and even if it hurts anyway. My entire situation feels unreal and I’m disconnected but still it helps to go through the motions. Maybe if I can put one foot in front of the other long enough, I’ll get somewhere. Maybe I’ll come out the other side.
I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m scared and I’m on my own and I don’t have a happy, healthy place to go to when I feel like curling up and crying. I’m waiting and I’m striving. I’m in limbo but still, my feet are firmly on this ground. It’s only my heart that isn’t, it’s only my head.
Some days, I feel like I’m going to disintegrate. So I put on my clunky boots and I listen to music that doesn’t make me feel anything at the moment. I turn the volume up loudly, I feel the weight around my ankles, the trudge of taking steps, the breath in and out of my body. Being this close to myself, remembering my humanity, feeling the blood pump round my meat-shell - it’s the last thing I want.
Nonetheless, it’s what I need. It’s me, telling myself to keep my fucking head up and smile my bullshit fake smile because it will keep me alive. It will stop me from evaporating, and that matters because I don’t intend to simply evaporate - one day, I’ll blaze out in a shower of fireworks, preferably some time after I at least know my cat is happy and safe.

Our breath, our bodies, our veins, they are throughlines for us. They remind us that we’ve been through shit and we’ll go through more shit but that we’ve also got good people and good memories and good places and good intentions. Right now, I’ve got no idea where I’ll end up. I don’t know how much harder it’s going to get but I know I’ve got the little bullshit things to hold onto, the things that are more solid and more important than we feel them to be when we can’t feel much of anything at all.

Heavy Machinery is written by Zainabb Hull and powered by space shoes and chronic heartache.

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