Song: “Devil Side” by Foxes

The signs are all there, but I never know to look for them until it’s too late—until there’s wailing and shrieking and rocking in the bathtub.

First, there’s dirty dishes in the sink. They pile up. There’s a saucepan. There’s a stack of bowls. The cabinets have no clean cups; the drawers have no clean utensils. I’m using a coffee mug for cereal.

But that’s easy to reason away, right? We all lead busy lives, and who likes washing dishes anyway? Ruins of soggy food, water that’s too hot or too cold, ceaseless scrubbing—dirty dishes mean nothing. Until they mean everything.

There’s sleeplessness. It starts innocently enough—a movie until midnight, lost time while chatting with friends, a task that carries momentum until everyone else is asleep. Then, the sun is rising on an unoccupied bed.

There’s silence.

By the time I notice, we’re in the throes of it. I’m in the throes of it, and I only have myself. Dialing the phone is worse than scrubbing week-old clam chowder from a porcelain bowl.

“Mountaintop Psychiatry,” says the voice on the other end.

“I’d like to schedule an appointment,” I say. “My name is Rachel Brennan.”

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