it’s a weird place. lonely, dark and empty. there are barely any words that can really describe the exact feeling of the pit. it’s not sad or angry, it’s more like a void. a little jar, that gets shut air-tight and nothing comes in or goes out as long as you’re in there. there is no good or bad, there’s just. nothing. just, a pit.
the pit is when you lay in bed and you can’t get up. there’s no point in getting up, no point in checking your phone, picking up your book or even taking a sip of water from the glas the is waiting on your bedside table. no point. you just lay there and do nothing. you breathe. and blink. eventually you move a little. not even sleep is an option. so you wait. hoping that maybe the pit turns into a hill that you can roll down in euphoria and laugh and cry once you chave your knee. once you feel again.
feeling. that’s something that never happens in the pit. maybe that’s why you go there after all. no feelings. just silence. even if you listen oh so carefully – nothing. it’s almost like a safe space but in order to go there you have to be fully dedicated. dedicated to disconnect one hundret percent. no exeptions in the pit. the reward is no expectation. just silence.
the hard part? getting out. that’s the real challenge. could go quick. could take months. sometimes it takes cruel tasks, tasks that cut open your skin and dig into your flesh at 3 am in the morning. tasks that make you inhale smoke that scratches up your lungs and burns your throat. tasks that have you ending up getting shitfaced, pouring liquid after liquid into your small body until everything spins so fast it almost, almost feels like feeling again. tasks that have you clawing at the wall every night because the silence and emptiness are eating you alive. and you just need to get out of the pit.
so you make sacrifices. a deal. a pact. you leave the pit but something stays behind. something is left down there, burried deep and captured forever. a tiny piece, each time. and each time it get’s easier to leave a part behind, if that’s what the cost is. you pay the price. and the pit pays you back. it always does.
Pit, by Isa Radich, November 2017