Her diary from this period is sparse. One entry reads only: “I am not here.” Another: “Took three hours to decide whether to shower.” The girl who once debated philosophy at dinner now struggled to answer yes-or-no questions. Year three was quiet in the worst way. Mikoto stopped fighting. She withdrew from the fellowship quietly, without explanation. Back home, she slept fourteen hours a day. Friends assumed she was recovering. In truth, she was waiting—for what, she couldn’t say.
She stopped calling home. She stopped eating with others. At night, she would sit in the dark of her studio apartment, watching the red blink of the smoke detector, timing her breaths to its rhythm. By the second year, the structure of her life began to shift. Mikoto missed deadlines for the first time. She’d stare at her research data until the numbers blurred into abstract symbols. Her mentor, concerned, suggested leave. Mikoto laughed—a hollow, percussive sound—and worked harder. mikoto's four-year breakdown
The breakdown didn’t end. It transformed. Mikoto still has her bad days. But now she knows: a four-year breakdown doesn’t break you if you finally stop counting the years. If this resonates with you or someone you know, consider reaching out to a mental health professional or a trusted support network. You are not your breakdown. Her diary from this period is sparse