Words by Lea (she/her), 18 NSW
The piece ‘The little man inside our head’ contains themes about mental health, anxiety and depression which may be difficult to read or triggering to some readers. Readers in need can seek support from the following services.
I create. She mutters through the stained-glass windows of her imagination.
Her mind is cluttered by the thoughts of money and success.
But all that manifests is a little man on a swivel chair staring through these frames.
Her eyes are glossy as she holds back every urge to kick and scream her way through these thoughts.
The man swivels.
Sips his coffee.
And relaxes as her body begins to detonate.
He knows what is about to happen,
He knows she is at her breaking point.
But yet he waits and watches her like a simple Monday morning car crash on the motorway.
His eyes are glued to her.
He is like a animal in the zoo.
But he doesn’t feel that way.
Because those emotions are projected through her,
And so, then he becomes an emotionless figure.
In a ploy of destructive behaviour.
The walls thicken and slowly close into him.
This does not bother him though.
As long as he has her, it does not matter.
She is his breathing cell.
Inwards it goes.
He swivels once, twice, thrice until his coffee spills from the eruption being undertaken.
The radio silences out.
No more communication is able to be reached.
The connection to the brain has been lost.
A small panic festers in him and the windows start to fade out.
He gets up from his little chair as the inwards of the cells continue to close him in.
The small man is now peering out of a minuscule hole trying to find glow on the outside.
The ruckus becomes louder.
He no longer feels connected to her.
The wire between the two have snapped.
He has become his own entity within her.
But with this he does not know what to do.
So, he sits and ponders in hours of silence.
He is now in a state of absolute obsoleteness.
Her insanity has procured into his mind.
A mind he didn’t know he possessed.
And therefore, the only rational thing he could think of is to drown himself out in his own coffee filled sorrows.
Ones he previously loved so dearly,
Whilst a little girl looks through the stained-glass windows in his mind.
And she too now reaches this endless cycle of darkness.