For as long as I can remember,
I have feared the Fall.
That time, they call it September, when things change.
The sun retreats behind the clouds.
The biting chill comes stalking.
And the days shrink away…
Leaving only the grey.
Then, I inevitably fall.
Fall into anxiety.
Fall into depression.
Fall into self-doubt and regret and anger.
Why did I waste the gift of long days that Summer had provided?
Why didn’t I go outside and soak up enough energy to last me through the Winter?
Why didn’t I stay at university, where I’d be safe to be in this state of not-knowing, greeting September as the start of a new academic year?
Why am I so tired?
And each question pulls me in deeper.
Each passing day only steals away more and more of…
Where am I going?
Where am I?
I try and try to fix myself.
To sort out this life thing once and for all.
Except it’s like a puzzle that doesn’t have all the pieces.
No matter what I do, I can’t feel complete.
And I blame fall for chipping away at me.
For stealing my excitement.
Stealing away my creativity.
Put words on paper?
The sky is too grey to see the pages.
And so my pages remain blank.
Through the fall, I’ve fallen.
But this autumn, I don’t want to fall.
Well, fall as deep, this time.
I forbid the depression to creep.
Don’t you seep in.
Siana, don’t you sink.
Perhaps I could see the beauty.
The pretty, layered clothing.
Long boots, long scarves, long coats.
Then there’s the fluffy blankets, shielding me from the darkness.
Oh, and not forgetting TV and film marathons to protect me from my reality.
And maybe I’d write.
Not for anyone else, but for me.
Write what’s inside so that it doesn’t kill me.
Write to no deadline or agenda.
Write in a state of total euphoria until the sun returns to me.
Perhaps, just perhaps, this fall,
I won’t fall.