Nearing the end

/ trying to conquer a comic and my brain at the same time

38 pages to go; 19 spreads. I burst into tears.

I forget how much this comic is weighing on me until I imagine the relief of finishing it. The weight has not been in isolation either.

My travels were supposed to help me reconnect with myself after I noticed she was shrinking, fighting a mental health condition that I had let spiral out of control while I was looking in the other direction.

When my travels were interrupted, it felt like I was thrown back into that space a bit. I was picked up, chewed a while, and spat back out. It wasn’t as bad as before — definitely not — but it still required an active effort to manage my symptoms. Maybe it would have always been hard, no matter when I returned.

I started planning the comic when I was detained, whilst I was still living the experience I knew I would document, and have barely had a break since. I dove straight into it when I was back home in Wales, and I am still going now, having moved back to London and resumed my part-time job as a nanny.

It has been hard. The comic is draining. It is draining to re-live the experience daily. It is draining to have to pay such close attention to your brain because you don’t want to let it slip again. It is draining to do the opposite and resist all of the old behaviours you used to rely on to push through the bad episodes, because you want to get better.

I want to get better, yet I am stuck once again, stuck in the past when I am desperate to start looking forward to the future.

We are getting there. Every time I draw a panel, every time I self-soothe instead of relying on others, every time I scan a page, every time I go for a run instead of spiralling, every time I finish a spread, every time I manage to pause before reacting, it is a step forward.

I am trying to continue stepping forward as various personal situations grab at me and attempt to pull me backwards; the hurt of resisting is sharp and present, but I struggle forward.