Relentless waves of overwhelm are upon me. I’m full up. Feelings bubbling to the surface causing my heart to pound and and my head to spin. Standing leads to collapse. Sitting creates restless desires for escape.
Needing my solitude, false smiles were exhausting me, I took to my bed. Depression. Anxiety. Maybe. Yes. But more, the need to reconnect with my real. My body remembered a day of despair, on cue, like a siren recall to my mind. I recalled. I spilled out. I broke myself into jagged pieces but felt more together. Alone was not lonely. I was heard. My recoil to myself was giving me life. My real was received. My feelings were nurtured with compassion and care.
At the turn of a hand overwhelm entered. All emotion blocked, stuffed down and piled upon with no exit to exhale and no space for inhale. Compassion gone, frustration, panic, feelings screaming for release, but none. The need for alone acute, but now becoming lonely, oh so lonely. A second, a blessed second when my body breathes, sweet relief, only a sliver of rest, but vast in its giving. Yet the suffocation returns in an instant and its expanse consumes any time of repose, taken, forgotten, gone.
It is from this place that my soul cries for an answer, a calling, a knowing. How to move into another moment. How to take another breath. How to claim my solitude and still connect. How to search and discover and believe and live. How to release my voice yet retain my safety. How to hold myself in the same body with the same mind retaining the same compassion when it jumps into illness and trauma and pain.
How to be. How to be me.