How Will I Know?

Where does the time go? How does it pass so suddenly no matter how hard I try to keep it in my grasp? There are times when I focus, laying in his bed, looking at the ceiling and lights, hearing him breathe in sleep and try to exist inside the moment without thought. Capture it like a living picture. Enjoy that for the moment I am there for times when I am not. It never stays though. Like water in my hand it finds miniscule cracks to slide through until it’s gone forever.

“Who’s sitting where for the movie?” “I’M SITTING NEXT TO JEWEL!” There’s open affection now. Hugs, cuddles, snuggling up to watch movies. A few times I’ve had all three around me, on me, piled up like all my memories of my own childhood. I’m thankful T and S let me have this, let me share and bask in moments like these. I belong here, with them, and for a little while I get to be. There’s nothing else outside these walls, no world, no pressing concerns. Just them and this time I get to have with them.

Later in the weekend, there are pictures. K and Z are pulling them out and explaining, and I’m trying to put myself in their shoes. I’m trying to see how they sound when they speak, about the memories tied to what’s in the pictures. Z talks about his hair, his faces, K talks about angles and I start to catch her insecurities. I start to see what she’s seeing and figuring out ways to help her embrace what she might be starting to form as flaws in her mind. History, past, family flash by in glossy detail. They laugh, they point, they make jokes and I am drawn in completely by it. They’re showing me themselves as they were, letting me into their little worlds.

And then, she’s there. It’s so sudden that I’m holding the picture and not understanding what I’m looking at until realization passes through me like an electric shock and I drop it without knowing back into the box. Z is looking at me, apologizing, his eyes registering hurt. What am I feeling? I don’t know, it just sounds like a trapped animal clawing it’s way out of my head. It takes a second for me to understand that’s my blood rushing through my ears, that my heart is trying to pound the dump of adrenaline through my system quickly. 

Am I hurt? Am I surprised? Am I sad? I don’t know, I can’t tell, the alarm bells drown everything out so after what feels like an eternity my legs slowly start moving and.. then I blink and I’m upstairs. How did I get up here? I look back in amusement that this room is now anchored to feelings of safety. I came here seeking security in a moment of chaos. My hands are shaking. Why?

I pick up a shirt to wrap them tightly but then think better of that so I just clutch it for a moment and breathe. Why am I panicking? Why is my body trying to tell me I’m about to die? It was a picture. This was someone I’ve advocated for as a rightful place in the history of these people. I’ve pushed to prevent her erasure, so why now is this suddenly making me feel like I can’t breathe?

The answer comes when I settle my body into folding up the clothes and mindlessly stuffing them in my suitcase. ‘You were all the way open, letting them in to you. You were being completely emotional and she still unsettles you.’ When I met T, he was still hung up, hinging so much on what he called an exit interview. So much closure he didn’t have and so much doubt in his mind to what he could offer me. Our first disagreements and struggles were around his doubts and fears planted by her. He walks in when I’m mid-panicked thought, remembering all the feelings from our first deeper talks. 

I can’t tell him to hold me. I can’t tell him to grab my face and just be present in front of me. I try to tell him to wait, to turn around, to not leave the room. I don’t want whatever is in my hands, I want to hold his hands and feel him, but I know that this is hard to look at. I know that my face is too openly ‘off’, that my body language is not welcoming. That I probably look mad or scared or unwell and so many have told me that it’s hard to know what to do when they see it. I’ve been told it’s too much, that it’s scary and worrying and I can still read faces in panic. I can still see the way people think I’ve gone off the deep end. I rocked and hugged my arms once and Matt told me sharply to knock it off. I can hear all the ways people have reacted to me and I have so few avenues left. 

Imagine your arms are burning in an unpleasant sensation, they have to move, you have to do something to ease it, and the longer you hold them still, the worse it gets. And then your brain starts feeling tingly. It starts at the base of your neck and like a headband it creeps forward to your forehead and the further it goes the worse it feels. I’ve stopped myself from showing any outward sign of trouble, but it’s all still there, still happening. Even though it makes everything worse, sometimes it’s just easier. Easier than scrubbing floors with a toothbrush or rocking and hugging my arms or folding clothes or washing my hands so hard they become raw. And seeing those faces appear with concern. I’m not crazy, evolution just forgot to tell my brain that not everything is mortal danger and then I went and really put myself in mortal danger and the wiring got all confused and welded together so now, sometimes, it just stops working.

And of course that’s not exactly what happens but there aren’t words to describe it, and there’s no way to know how it feels unless you’ve felt it. You only know that once in a while an atomic bomb goes off in your head and when the smoke clears, people are hurt. So many of us hide it behind thick walls of ‘I’m fine”, because we can’t tell what’s worse. The panic or the aftermath of letting it be visible. My walls are still here. I use them at work all the time, all day. It’s been a conscious effort to let them fall for certain people, and it’s still to mixed reviews. ‘Be honest but don’t scare them.’ Ok. I’m trying. 

When I come back down he looks like he could cry. I feel awful. We try again with pictures but this time I’ve put the walls half up so when more pictures turn up there’s nothing. No reaction. He scrambles to hide them but there’s nothing on my side. Enough damage was done, there won’t be more tonight even if she walked in the door. People can argue all they want about how walls are bad, but sometimes you need them to live. Sometimes they keep you level.

And of course as I’m writing this, she’s coming through the proverbial door. This weekend upcoming. I’m drowning in the C, and these walls will keep my heart safe from it. Does that make me bad? Heartless? Walls save my life, save my mind. But at what cost? Will they be up all weekend now?

I want to write more about the adjustment with Matt, getting more shared time and a picture next to the bridge in the park but it’s all blocked off now. So that will be another day. Another time. 

Can mermaids drown?