The Place Between Dreams

The Sadness

Sometimes, on the Internet, people make comments like, "I want off this planet," or "I don't want to live in this world anymore," and things like that pissed Janey off.

They said these things casually, basically in gest. But that was how Janey Nye genuinely felt.

As a general rule, Janey avoided the Internet. Even though she loved art, books, movies, and laughing, and all of those things were plentiful online... She found the Internet mostly harmful to someone with major depression. A thousand things could make her laugh. Even so, it just took one thing to break her.

One tale of terrorism. One tale of hatred. One tale of harm coming to a child.

Of course these things affect everybody, as evidenced by the onslaught of comments; usually vicious debates, that occurred online following every single world event. Most people were affected to the extent that they felt compelled to shoot off an angry/anguished/comforting comment and maybe even help a new hashtag trend, in honor of their feelings on the issue of the day. Super affected; they might shed a tear. Super SUPER affected, they might pray. And in those extreme cases of caring, people might even donate to whatever charity corresponded.

But these things affected Janey differently somehow. The world's every day, inevitable sadness was like a long boney arm, ending in a gnarled, deformed claw that could cram itself down Janey's throat, ensnare her heart, and rip it out. It choked her; she could taste the ghost of blood and bile in her mouth every time she read about the sadness. And especially in the way her fellow humans tended to respond to "life today."

It froze her. Incapacitated her. Ruined her.

She loved the two people she shared the little brick bungalow with. Historic district. Submerged in times gone by; a distraction. "That should be enough," was the mantra that sustained her most days.

But those times she did give in to the allure, those days she couldn't help but indulge her addiction to the news, it was a vortex. Maybe she was searching for some sort of hope or reassurance that never came. But she would spend an entire day, every single spare moment, scouring the news, searching the hashtags.

Reading. The. Comments.

That day it was a terrorist attack, which brought the conservative American narrative out enforce.

Fucking Muslims! Close the borders! Put them in camps! KILL THEM ALL!

It exhausted Janey, exhausted her. Because let's be honest, they didn't just mean Muslims. They meant non-Christians. It was simply too obvious to take down every one at once, so start by chipping away at just one religion.

Meanwhile, Janey was plagued by internal images of refugees, dangling from the sides of ships, slipping, falling, screaming, into the darkness of the ocean. Dead babies. Burned, and screaming mothers. People who cared not about Christianity or Islam, but dead all the same, caught up in the maelstrom of hate. Though she was self-aware enough to know these were the morbid imaginings of an afflicted mind, she was smart enough to know they were reality some place.

All the people in the middle of every important conflict those days seemed to die. Which meant everyone had to pick a side. Sometimes Janey knew which side she was on. Other days, one convincing argument could send her into a tail spin of turmoil.

She didn't know what to believe, which left her constantly afraid.

Seven and a half billion people in the world and only her own four walls to fit into.

Janey lay in bed next to Quincy, the light from her phone the sole illumination in the dark. She scrolled and scrolled, and cried and cried. Mostly quietly, since she was more choking than crying.

Quincy lingered between wakefulness and dreams.

She knew he was probably still awake enough to know she was crying, but that night, he chose not to offer his comfort. She would go to obsession and insomnia alone, without the quiet murmur of his love words or his warm arms.

She couldn't blame him. Being with her had to be absolutely exhausting.

She read, and cried, until four a.m.

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