It started about two weeks ago.
I saw an ad for a PhD position which would suit me ideally, and began working on my application. Finally I had found a way away from a life of rotting away at some customer support. I would be able to become the person I'd always wanted to be. All I needed to do was produce a stellar application.
A dark, desolate plain surrounded on all sides by tall mountains. In the center of the plain lies the Black Ocean. By the shore, with his back against the water, sits a young boy. And somewhere deep beneath the surface, something stirs.
I began thinking about what I would do in my propsed dissertation. Started reading articles and browsing through books. Ideas began to take form. I recall thinking at some point that it was all or nothing now. I had to have this PhD position, it was my only ticket out of the dead end route my academic career had taken. My way to salvation, if you will.
Suddenly the quiet waters are disturbed. Black tendrils break the surface, snaking towards the boy.
For a couple of days I agonized. What would I write about? What was it I wanted to do? Once I had gotten a clear idea, I set to work. During the first couple of days I was thrown between hope and despair, between intense feelings of grandeur and equally intense feelings of inadequacy. I recall mentioning this to my fiancee, saying that I had to use the moments of exhilarition because eventually there would be some kind of backlash. What I had in mind was that the exhilartion would carry me through the writing process, and that while I would be tired afterwards it would have been worth it.
The tendrils keep getting closer, until they lash out grabbing hold of the boys ankles. He turns quickly and sees the whole ocean bubbling, boiling. The tendrils tighten their grip and the boy cries out in pain. Thrashing around, he is trying to get loose. He finds a rock and strikes hard at one of the tendrils, and it lets go. But the other tendrils tighten their grip. The boy cries out again as sharp barbs break the skin on his calves.
We decided that my fiancee would go to her parents over the weekend, bringing our daughter with her. To give me time to focus fully on finishing the application. The evening before they left, I told her that if I didn't get that PhD position I would tear my academic diplomas and forget all about a possible academic career. It would be the final nail, it would be a final confirmation that I wasn't cut out for academic work and that I had wasted 10 years of my life. If I didn't get that PhD position, it would mean a rejection of the person I had always wanted to be.
Black, vile poison pours in through wounds opened up by the barbs. A sharp, burning pain spreads quickly up through the boy's legs. His vision blurs and his thoughts start to get clouded.
They left just before lunch on Thursday. Most of the afternoon I spent procrastinating, watching a movie, aimlessly browsing through articles and trying to focus my thoughts. I go back to what I've written and decide it doesn't quite cut it. Try to come up with a better structure. In the evening I head off to an interesting talk about troubled teenagers. Coming home, I spend most of the remaining evening staring at a mostly blank computer screen. Feeling everything slip between my fingers.
The tendrils begin to drag the boy towards the black water. The boy struggles. Digs his fingers deep into hard gravel. Pain from his torn fingers momentarily clears both his vision and thoughts, and he sees something emerge out of the waters. Something huge, with an aura of oozing menace.
Friday morning. I woke up with a bad headache. Some ideas fluttering through my mind, but before I got the computer up and running I'd lost them. Looking at what I had written so far, I was filled with frustration. Put my head in my hands. It was all just a big mess. So close to giving up. Just couldn't focus my thoughts, and I started to lose sight of what I even wanted to do. The day passed by with short moments of hope in a sea of despair. Falling asleep took forever.
Hovering above the waters is a dark shape. A man. Eyes burning with rage. A massive wingspan unfolds, stretching from one end of the ocean to the other. The source of the tendrils, this is the Dark Angel. Recognition dawns in the eyes of the boy and he cries out in pure terror. Tendrils lash out, striking the boy again and again. He curls up, trying desperately to shield himself.
On Saturday I woke up, still with a pretty bad headache but better than the day before. Went back to the first texts I'd written and realised they weren't too bad. Decided I could keep a large part. I remembered what it was I wanted to write about in the first place, and things began to take shape. Later, on the way to buy dinner, it suddenly hit me. If I didn't get that PhD position, it would simply be because the people at the institute didn't find my ideas interesting. And if they didn't find them interesting, what would I want to do there anyway? I came back home, ate and watched some TV. And then sat down and began writing. Tried going to sleep around 1am. Couldn't sleep. Continued writing. 3am. Finally fell asleep.
The boy was pinned down. Tendrils snaking around his legs, arms, reaching for his throat. And then he remembered. Images flashed before his eyes. Ancient words drifted up from deep, almost forgotten places. He calmed his racing thoughts. Pulse slowing. And then he cried out 'Stop!'. The Dark Angel froze. Recoiled as if hit by the force of an exploding sun. The tendrils lost their grip, and followed the dark shape as it fell back down into the Black Ocean. Shadows lifted as rays of light broke through the clouds.
Sunday went by in a haze. I woke up knowing precisely what I had to add and revise, and sometime after lunch I was more or less done. Having written down what I wanted to write down, I felt at ease. This was what I wanted to do, and if I didn't get that PhD position it had nothing to do with me. Began working on the remaining formalities and spent the rest of the day anxiously waiting for my fiancee and daughter to come home.
A grassy plain surrounded on all sides by tall mountains. In the center of the plain a vast ocean stretches out. On a hill overlooking the waters stands a Great Oak, underneath which sits a boy. Smiling.
Epilogue
I was caught off guard this time, saw all the signs but never really acknowledged them. Of course it started long before I saw that ad. In a way it started decades ago, and eight years ago I crashed completely. That time I had help getting out of it and I learned a lot in the process. But as the years go by, memories have a tendency to fade. It was probably two years ago that the Darkness started creeping back in and my thinking began getting more and more polarized. In some ways I think I've been walking on the borders of the Shadowlands ever since. One foot on either side.
This weekend, the journey I took, was about so much more than simply writing a PhD application. I know that now. It was good trial run for when the Darkness comes again. Because it will return. It is as much a part of me as everything else in my personality. But more importantly I found my way back, and I got a reminder - a harsh reminder - to listen more closely to my own thoughts and be more aware of my emotions.
Next time it comes, I'll be better prepared.
And I'm done with the application.
Now all I can do is wait.
With a smile.
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