A Garden on the Screen. A Fire in the Room.

An essay on escape, avoidance, and the monster that waits.

I was in my hotel, cocooned in artificial calm. Sprawled across the oversized sofa in the pristine living area, feet up on the glass coffee table, hands folded over my stomach, slouched into a posture I knew I would complain of back pain later. Having a quiet, predictable day. I had surrendered myself to one my favorite YouTube channels, the perennial garden, with hosts Allen and Lars. They were strolling through their Danish garden, showing off what's blooming in springtime with upbeat and fun voices. A safe place. That's when it crept in.

Thinking back, I did feel it coming up, slowly, inch by inch from my core. Like a tide pulling back before a wave. Little did I know; those waves were warning shots. I told myself it would stay small. That I'd smother it like I had done so many times before. I was wrong. That day was the real thing. It was The eruption.

The Fire in the Room

It grabbed me without asking. With its frigid fist, it whispered: "What are you doing with your life? You are wasting away." I didn’t move. I paused. Calculating the best formula for a quick escape. Anything to abort what was erupting inside of me. “If I just turn the volume up", I thought. "If I drown it with Allen and Lars' voice, with dahlias and whimsical garden paths..."

Too late. It had already wrapped itself around me.

It swelled from what was small and brewing from within to a full grown tsunami. So engulfing that I could feel its weight pulling the air downward. Slowly, it turned my face toward its own. I'm looking into empty pits, reflective like black glass. Its grip moved from my hand to my neck, tightening, it roared: “you are rotting away”.

I tried guarding myself, but its force was too strong by then. I couldn’t get away. That’s when it dawned on me: my escape pad had been compromised and there was nowhere else to run.

“You’re hurting me!” I shrieked. Determined, it kept going, growing, engulfing my hotel room. Twelve hundred square feet vanished beneath a suffocating fog. There was no more space left for me. Lounging day is over. The monster caught up to me after weeks of evading it.

“How long are you going to keep being a failure?” it escalated.

Its voice was everywhere. Bouncing off the walls, sinking into my being. It knew things. All of my shortcomings. It kept records!

“Remember the job interview?" It sneered. "When they asked your expected salary and you aimed too high? The oldest trick in the book, and you fell for it. Of course they didn't call you back. Pathetic!"

I clenched my eyes shut.

"And that time you got scammed out of $1,000?” it continued, delighted.

“Or selling your home for way less than it was worth because you thought you were doing the right thing? You didn't have the spine to stand your ground!"

Each word burned more than the fire in the room. Flames licked up my feet and curling through my gut. I couldn't breathe.

"All those days you stayed inside", it went on, relentlessly, "instead of promoting and growing your business? Too many examples of you failing!” It shouted.

There. The flames swallowed me whole.

All I had wanted that day was to relax and watch Allen and Lars stroll through their garden of Eden. To see the flourish of the new varieties Lars had planted. Everything was in bloom in their well-established backyard but this thing tore through my joy like a vandal, setting ablaze everything that seemed fireproof.

"Leave me alone!" I murmured. I was deflated. My body folded inward. I didn't even want to fight. I just wanted it gone.

"Leave so I can continue watching my favorite YouTubers." I mumbled under my breath. "That's my escape from reality."

“Exactly!” It shrieked. “All you do is escape! So, don’t you dare be surprised when I come to collect.”

It's voice echoing in the living room: “Your dreams are grand and bright. You want to catapult yourself and your family to new heights but you are weak! Who will realize those dreams if are so lazy?”

I collapsed, sobbing on the floor with my face pressed into my palms. Tears splattered onto the glass coffee table, leaving smeared constellations behind. “Why did you say that? Why are you persisting with such painful words? You’re not here to help. Get out! I don’t need this now. I want peace.” I couldn’t hear Allen over the TV anymore. The screen might as well have been black. There was only the raging monster and me, huddled on the floor, cold with loneliness.

I whispered for a savior to come rescue me. “Please help me!” my voice shakily uttered once, then twice. Gently rocking my body back and forth, like a child abandoned in an adult body.

“Stop crying!" It snapped, locking eyes with my soul. "Stop pleading for a savior! No one is coming.”

There was no regard for my well-being. Its presence was all-consuming.

For the duration of the episode of the perennial garden, twenty six minutes, my world collapsed. The monster set me ablaze with truths sharpened into weapons. Words that I started to believe the more it talked. Worse, I helped. I even created memories. I fed it more failures. I replayed abandoned plans: the fashion rental business that fizzled, the vacation property idea that died before it breathed. Plenty of time I could’ve done better. Done more.

It's not the first time it has come with that intensity. But, twenty six minutes is a record!

“You keep consuming instead of creating." It said coldly. "You’ll deteriorate. You were never meant to sit and watch Allen and Lars! And for as long as you remain passive, I live wherever you are. I don’t need your permission to be your mirror.”

So, there, on the floor I stayed. I’m not sure how long it took for the smoke to thin, for the darkness to retreat. Eventually, the day ended and I went to bed. I survived.

Fast forward weeks later, back home, I asked myself the questions I was too broken to ask then:

Why must you be such a bully, depression?

Are you this cruel to everyone or am I special?

Do you serve a purpose or are you just pain?

Depression hurts. There needs to be a thoughtful fight to be released from under its grip.

To believe that travel is therapy is a comforting lie. Staycation included. Yes, a change of scenery can rearrange the furniture of your psyche, but it does nothing to evict the demons already living there.

There’s still good news though: you can't outrun feelings, but you can let them pass through. Best to do so without judgment. My mistake was interacting with it, succumbing to its pressure, letting it convince me that it was right.

FIN

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