I wake up and test my mood. It’s usually the same. A bleak one. I try to reason it through, to analyse, to step back and apply some logic to it all. But it doesn’t change that the fact that I wake up blue. And it isn’t a question of space, or indeed, what the day holds. It is always the same, this grey, underlying bleakness that floors me. And I have to pick myself up from it every morning, to bath, to dress, to walk and to prepare breakfast. The light of morning helps a little, but even now, I am not much lifted. I need structure. I need to know that I am doing it right, living the life I should be living. Properly, mindfully, kindly, living well. Am I? Giving up the structure, as we have been forced to do, is unsettling. I am left adrift. What am I? What am I for? What is my purpose? Am I living right? And the questions hover around me, dogging my steps. I just don’t know. I have drifted along in life. Following what felt right. Is that good enough? Will I be held to account for not being proactive enough, for not designing a proper, useful life? He thought I was ‘stirred’ up by Ria’s plight in Butterflies. I’m not. That was too long ago and I am appreciated. The fight is my own. It is internal. A not-knowing that eats away at me. How can I be peaceful? How can I be kind amidst all this internal warring? Can I make it stop?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.