i’ve been living off vapours:

i’ve been living off vapours
thin breaths, uncomfortable highs
the world glazed
just out of reach

i’ve been sick-tired
with Decembers’ remembers

i’ve been running on just-fine
sunk below body stores
stuck in mind sinks
with depths to breach

i’ve been tired-sick
of Decembers’ embers

On low ferritin. A virus. Depression. With the backdrop of December, which is often bitter-sweet and marks unconscious milestones.

Yesterday I skinny-dipped in a neighbour’s pool—a first sign of starting to feel better.

Huge gratitude to Kat Scriven, Toni Westaway and Lynette Rink for offering feedback when I was stuck with the second verse, and to Zephne Ladbrook and a few anon others for your heartfelt messages.

UPDATE 8 December, 2025:

Written in December 2023, this poem has since been slightly revised. It’s for anyone who struggles during December. It doesn’t offer resolution, but may it bring solace if this month feels heavy for you.

𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠…

It was Christmas Day, and I must have been four, maybe five. I got up early, put on my ballet clothes, and went to hide behind the bar in our lounge. I loved that bar – the dark wood, its little hidey places. My plan was to spring up and dance for my mom and stepdad.

𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥. I felt a growing despair, a kind of anxiety (this is my first clear memory of anxiety). To this day, I can’t remember if I shared the dance. All I know is that when they finally walked through, much later than I expected, I felt deflated.

𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐞: I probably got up really, really early (maybe as early as 4:30 a.m.). It’s also possible that the waiting felt much longer than it really was; I was too young to have any real sense of time. And my nervous system hadn’t developed enough to hold all that feeling.

This makes me feel tenderness for that child; it makes me sad and it makes me smile.

I wish I could say to her: Take your pillow and duvet. Snuggle in behind the bar with your dogs and cats in companionship and mutual adoration. Take a couple of deep breaths. Tense and then relax each muscle. It’s okay to have a nap before the adults arrive. They might choose a cosy lie-in – it’s their day off, they’ve worked hard.

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘺. 𝘉𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.

And when your audience arrives, perform to inspire, entertain and delight them. But dance your dance because it’s an expression of who you are, not for their approval.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘢 𝘺𝘰𝘨𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦’𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘵, 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵. 𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯. You’re perfecton track, Nati. All is well.

PHOTO: Pixabay/Pexels