Light Through the Cracks

DestanyStevens
Mar 24
4 min read

Updated: Apr 3

A snow-covered pine, standing quietly beneath the weight. Photograph by Destany Stevens.

My favorite video game is Kingdom Hearts. The storyline, the meaning behind it, the art, the characters, everything. But the quotes are what hit the most.

“I’ve been having these weird thoughts lately, like, is any of this for real or not?”

—Sora, Opening of Kingdom Hearts

I have never felt so close to a game as I have these past few weeks. From navigating my mental health and facing a potential mood disorder to being sent to a crisis center for assistance during some of my lowest lows. I often find myself wondering whether this is real life or just one long nightmare.

Spoiler alert, this is indeed real life. I can’t help but laugh at that part because it’s not that it’s funny—it’s that sometimes laughter is the only way to release the weight of everything at once.

What is a mood disorder?

Hopkins Medicine says, “A mood disorder is a class of serious mental illnesses. The term broadly describes all types of depression and bipolar disorders.” My therapist tells me it’s biochemical and not something you choose or cause.

Bright side? Once diagnosed, though, it’s very easy to treat. Treatments consist of some of the following:

antidepressants, mood-stabilizing medications, and psychotherapy

The difficult part? Getting diagnosed.

Recap

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been working with my therapist to figure out what exactly is causing my mental health to decline to the point where I need to be on continuous leave from work. I’ve been dealing with cycles of mood swings, manic episodes, depressive episodes, and chronic suicidal ideation (SI). Sometimes, it feels like everything is happening all at once.

It’s affected me so much that I ended up at the Spurwink Living Room Crisis Center, which will forever be burned into my memory as the helpful yet sketchy place that left me deeply uncomfortable. It probably didn’t help that I was crying while holding a stuffed banana, struggling to get the words out about why I am even there in the first place.

That moment didn’t fix everything, but it did help me pause—and that mattered. It still does.

Thankfully, I have been leaning into writing to help navigate my emotions and the highs and lows of my mood. Poetry has been a huge help, and I even finished my first Poetry collection, which I hope to publish later this year (couldn’t not plug that in here). But writing has been my anchor; it allows me not only to navigate my emotions but also to feel a sense of release when I put pen to paper. Or in my case, fingers to keyboard?

If I have learned anything about my experience, it’s that nothing humbles you like an at-home safety plan—being cared for like you’re fragile while still expected to function like an adult. My family and I, with the help of a social worker, were given instructions on how to build a safety plan for me at home.

My therapist provided me a list of resources to reach out to, including 988, the suicide crisis line, as well as Maine’s warm line, 866-771-9276. She is also the one who advised me to go to the Crisis living room, where I could get immediate, completely voluntary assistance. Meaning, I wouldn’t be forced to stay, which is something that I needed in that moment. I needed to be in a safe environment and have some control over the situation.

Where am I now?

Right now, I am at a point where I am safe thanks to amazing mental health care providers and the support of my immediate family. I am navigating a space where I may have a cyclical mood disorder. I am struggling with chronic SI. It has been quite the endeavor. I have no way to describe it other than I feel like I have been grasping at straws. Some days feel steady, and others feel uncertain—but I’m learning how to move through both.

(My hands are sweating just writing about it.)

As cliché as it may seem, I want to share the final poem in my upcoming manuscript, Perfect Reflection.

Ajar

Light through the cracks

of brain fog—

lost moments

missing emotions.

The bathroom door was left ajar.

I am a shattered mess,

like the remnants of an exploding

light bulb.

Light pools on the floor.

She brings me back.

Are you ready to wake up, baby?

It’s time to get up.

She rolls,

stifles a giggle.

She smiles.

She is light.

She…

is my reality.

She is my home.

We are safe.

This piece is part of a larger body of work i've been writing through this season of my life.

Perfect Reflection is a poetry collection centered on cycles, perception, and learning to see yourself clearly—even when everything feels fractured.