When crisis came it wasn’t the one we’d been preparing for. No enemy to fight
or sci-fi asteroid strike, no call for heroes. We didn’t even notice the start – a
spate of nausea and dizziness – but it spread and worsened until billions of
people were struggling to control their newly buoyant bodies.
They gauged that gravity is weaker but couldn’t explain it, nor why it doesn’t
affect everybody. But a bad joke turned into a fact: the weight of our
depression is keeping us down. Balanced out, raised from torpor to normality,
we walk freely while they flounder like toddlers.
Depression is hyper-visible now. We’ve gone from hypochondriacs to role
models, our lives and bodies scoured for survival tips. Lately they’ve been
trying to reverse-engineer depression in themselves, copying our self-harm
cuts or paying hypnotists to plant false traumas in their minds.
We watch them try to stand in our shoes, sell them our pain, tell our stories as
if we even know ourselves.
These sessions will try to ground you. A professional breakdown of Flis’s ill-
fated solo show in 2015, a dubious personal story of sex and severed fingers,
and the transfer of scars to participants (sfx, optional).
Trigger warning: discussion of self mutilation