Friday, September 13, 2013

More About Holes

  The hole.  I started calling it that sometime in the blurry past.  Somewhere back there, I remember learning that was Nora's word for it.  Nora is my friend I rarely see anymore.  I have a few of those.  It happens.
  The hole.  Right.  Found one, fell in.  It was a long, slow fall.  In fact, I was already falling when I realized what was going on.  Before that was a clusterfuck of migranes, with a toothache between.  Even that seems blurry now. 

  But not summer.  No, summer is as clear as a bell.  No.  Not like a bell.  And not clear. 
More like a siren  through smoke. A squeal of tires  on asphalt.  A train bearing down.   The desert summer is always harsh, but this is an ugly heat, it  locks us indoors as sure as a snowstorm but  doesn't feel like nature. This isn't the desert I know.  This heat feels WRONG. 

Too much bad news and suffering among humans.  Too many oblivious, selfish dumbfucks. Sometimes I'm one of them.

I can't look at the sky.  It begins to look like a ceiling. It presses down.  My heartbeat - if I looked at my chest, I might see it just so faintly.  I don't look.  I've seen it before.  In my head, it's cartoony - a heart shape pounding against my shirt, stretching it to breaking. My skin prickles,  my hands sweat,  the floor tilts.  
 Then I hear it, in the wind or the whooshing pattern of a fan or the dishwasher's rhythm.  "Wake up human.  Wake up.  Wake up human wake up.  wakeup  human wakeup human wakeuphuman. It's late it's late itslate itslateitslateitslate. 

 I don't look at the sky because it is a ceiling.   I squint my eyes and look.
Ohhhhhhh. Un-see that.
  I can do this.
 I close my eyes and breathe.  I know what to do.  I have SKILLS.
 Breathe.  C'mon, girl, breathe.
 All is quiet.

There.  There, it's over.
there its over
there its over
there is no ver
there is no door
There is no door.
There is No Door.
The sky is a ceiling and there is no door.

Aw, shit.

  And I'm falling.  Falling, falling, falling.
It's not so much that darkness closes in.  It's not so much a darkness descending. 
It's more like the light receding.
I'm falling.  Damn.  And I forgot my tiny umbrella.

It's awfully quiet in here.  And so dark. Outside are monsters.

I could sleep all day.  Outside are dragons.
Everything I love is out there too. And not in here.  And I could sleep all day.

  Possibly we fall into these holes simply because we lean over and look into them.  There are dark places, probably best avoided, but then,  never looking in seems too much like denial.
  It's not the one thing that gets me, usually.  I can take the tragic news story, financial struggles, relationship stress or illness.  The anxiety.  It's the one-two punch - the combinations - that leave me feeling vulnerable, powerless and useless.

  Most times I avoid holes. I work stuff out in the work.  But this time I couldn't work.  Couldn't write. Couldn't hold on.  So I fell.  Thankfully, I had support and understanding at home.  And a gentle doctor still trying to convince me I'll always need Chemicals for Better Living.  Otherwise - and it has been otherwise before - I'd have stayed a lot longer.
 It gets awfully comfortable down there where we can just give up.

You are not alone, fellow traveler.  And neither am I.
We all fall down.


Michaela said...

you just ruined my pretty cat Make-up !
I´ve been there too lately, for smiliar reasons. I fear that I still am there, despite all efforts. Hugs to you.

lisa said...

Michaela - Hugs right back. Sorry about your makeup! :-)
For most of my life I've had to choose between the crappy side effects of meds and the falling. These years later, I've learned to avoid holes most of the time. But once in a long while, I know there isn't any choice at all and I have to take the bad with the good. Hang in there.

Melissa P said...

It's so true. We all fall down. I'm not sure when we begin to believe that it "shouldn't" happen anymore. As children, we expect it. Whether through misjudgement or exuberance, defiance or curiosity, we fell. Sometimes we cried and cringed at getting back out there. Other times we hopped up ready to do it all again. But at some mysterious point we came to believe that adults don't do that. Adults only fall when they fail. It's a falsehood that doesn't do us any favors.

I'm glad you're back, that you're out of the hole. I'm sorry I've not been more present, not been standing at the top of that hole with a rope and calm voice. I'm sending peace and steady energy your way.

lisa said...

Melissa - wise words, for sure. Thanks for that.
Don't be sorry. I don't forget you're around. And that does help.

Sarah said...

Just hugs

yemamaya said...

We keep falling in, yah. If/when you are alive. For a reason(and I keep tellin myself it is a reason enough) I opt for "safely and comfortably numb". It. Is. Worse.

DavidK said...

At least when one is falling down the hole, there's still a sense of direction - you know which way is up. Getting to the point where you can't distinguish up from down? Drifting in a void? I hope you never get that far removed from life. Hugs!