anxiety, depression, expat, mental health, mental illness, parenting, postnatal, postnataldepression, recovery

Small Hours.

The only ones awake at 3am, are the loved..

And the lonely.


The bursts of excitement and intrigue that being newly in love brings are incomparable to anything else that I have ever experienced. The enthralment, the jittery thrill of waiting for a reply, of arranging when to next meet. The sighs of contentment, reminiscing about that kiss.

The way your heart leaps and bounds around your chest, as you lay smiling at the ceiling. Clutching yourself, squeezing yourself, anxiously waiting for the next time you can see them. Craving them.. Emotionally, physically.

Your mouth creases into a smug little smile as you lay there, thinking about all the things you love about them. You fantasise about scenarios, holidays, family-gatherings, car-journeys..Any opportunity to focus on one another, on the love.

You feel like you are the only person awake in the world, or maybe they are? Maybe they’re as excited as you? The mere thought fills you with adrenaline.

Your alarm bleeps, you bounce out of bed, you check your phone again..

You swipe down and the notification light that had been glowing green, delivers you your next fix.

You are in love, and you embrace the day and all it might throw at you with that at the forefront of your mind.

Life is colours, it is happiness, it is everything.


The chest tightenings and hissing in your ears are back again. You reach over for your phone, the bright light stings your eyes as you check the time. 2.31am. You sigh.

This is the fifth night running you are awake at 2am, in the small hours. You lay awake, alone, wondering when this feeling will finally go away.

You miss the affection you had previously felt for people, for yourself, for life.

Clutching yourself, squeezing yourself, you fantasise about all the ways that things could go wrong. You concoct imaginary scenarios which are larger than life, terrifying and vivid. Images of failings and the vibration of loud internal voices make your body tremble.

You fight hard against it, but you lose. You always lose.

Alone in the dark your brow is furrowed, your cheeks are hot and wet, and you’re praying that the alarm goes off soon, that the day will begin. Your distractions will arrive.

You feel you are the only person awake in the world. That you must be the only person that is so dedicated to self-loathing, that even when she calls at 3am, you will answer.

Your alarm beeps, you pull your body out of bed and you make coffee.

You are sad – and you dread the day and all it might throw at you, with that at the forefront of your mind.

Life is grey. It is misery. It is empty.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s