I Feel The End Coming: the day-to-day of mental illness

Comics by Amelia A. J. Foy

It’s hard to explain how much my mental health impacts my day-to-day life, because it’s not visible most of the time. It’s mundane. Pervasive. It doesn’t have to be “triggered” necessarily. It can be in the most mundane activities that I feel it strongest - like waking up. Or drinking coffee in a cafe.

(Image descriptions at the end of the article.)

Image descriptions:
1: Black and white digital art of my head on a pillow, with me under the covers below it. Text across it reads: I feel the end coming at 8am on a Tuesday morning. When I have to get up but the covers suck me back down, saying: “This is the only place where you are safe.”
2: Black and white digital sketch of people on the tube, me in a white-out hoodie. Text across it reads: I feel the end coming at 6pm on a Thursday. When I am sandwiched onto the central line coming back from work and all I can think is, “I have to die all over again tomorrow.”
3: Black and white digital drawing of an overview of a coffee cup, with an arm and sketch book in frame, next to a slither of me with my head in my hand. Text across it reads: I feel the end coming at 3pm in Caffe Nero on a Friday. When I didn’t go into work. When it took the whole day to start existing again.
4: Black and white digital drawing of three cups and a close up of a mouth underneath. Text across it reads: I feel the end coming at 7pm in Caffe Nero on a Saturday. When I can’t bring myself to feel comfortable. When my friends speak and I hear, “This isn’t working.”
5&6: Black and white digital drawings, of a white-out wave over black. Text across it reads: Some people call it a grey cloud or black dog, but I don’t see it; I can’t describe it’s twisted face, it’s all vague and blurry in front of me. The only word that feels right is bottomless. A sluggish, sucking, sinking, bottomless feeling, like my body is falling through the pavement. Like when you get to the deep end of the swimming pool and can’t touch the floor with your toes. I’m too tired to swim. I’m too tired to work. I’m too tired to shower, dress, brush my teeth, write. I want to be able to sink; just for a while. I want to stop resisting the pull of the tide. But it will pass. (Again.) I refuse to sink!