This morning, the sky was putting on a show—the Geminid Meteor Shower. I’d forgotten about it when I stumbled outside at 6am with the dog. The early morning sky was clear, which I normally love. But as I stood there, wrapped up in my dressing gown against the cold, staring up at streaks of light racing across the darkness, I felt… flat. Completely and utterly flat.

It’s been like this for weeks now. A creeping black shadow that started out on the edges, something I thought I could shrug off or distract myself from, has settled right in the pit of my stomach. I feel useless at my job, questioning everything I do, and feeling invisible. At home, I’m there in body but not much else. My mind drifts, and I can’t seem to anchor myself in the present. Friendships have slid by the wayside; there’s that gnawing sense of being, as Sharon Strzelecki from Kath and Kim so perfectly puts it, “a bit desperately lonely.”

I’ve noticed how much harder conversations have become. Words don’t come as easily, and I catch myself avoiding eye contact because it feels too intimate, too exposing. Even with people I care about, there’s this gulf I can’t seem to bridge. And when I’m alone, the neediness creeps in—this pathetic, aching craving for connection—followed quickly by the mortifying thought of anyone seeing me like this. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this. I can already imagine the eyerolls from people with actual, real problems. I don’t want pity, and I’m not sure what help would even look like. So instead, I retreat. The only places I feel safe are in bed, under the covers, or lost in the pages of a book where nothing is required of me. Thank God for ACOTAR!!

And now, Christmas is looming. The decorations, the shopping lists, the juggling of plans, the invisible emotional labour—it all feels so heavy. Everyone else seems to be carrying their weight with good cheer, while I’m dragging mine like a stone tied to my ankle. I’m supposed to be looking forward to this, right? I’m supposed to be grateful for the time with family, for the warmth and light of the season. But right now, all I can see are the responsibilities piling up, the demands I’m afraid I won’t meet.

I don’t have a neat way to wrap this up, no silver lining to tie it all together. I’m writing this because it’s one thing I can do—put words to how I’m feeling, even if it’s messy and raw. Maybe that’s enough for today. Just naming the shadow that’s been following me feels like a start, however small.