My mouth is wedged open and my body immovable, a toxic mix of cadmium, mercury, and lead. Where …am…I…
I can’t breathe. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale.
My self…my body… Nothing. Then…
A black oil covers my skin—sticky, black, wet asphalt. It hardens. Pressure. With a heartbeat. Thumping, it crawls through my toes, my ankles, my knees, up my thighs, and into me.
Wet, sticky, stinky, oily, asphalty, demonic, beastly, alive, pressure, pressure, pressure.
Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Please inhale…
It enters my mouth…it’s inside me and I am inside it. I have been consumed.
I am dying. I am dead. I am here forever.
Powerless.
Shut down.
BREATHE!
I jump up. My skin all knarly. Hyperventilating.
“Everything is OK. I’m here. You are safe. It was just a dream.” My spouse’s words bring me back to the moment. I am in my home. In my bed. It is 2 am. 2015. October. I place my hand over my heart.
Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.
All day I have repeated that mantra “just a dream.”
Today was a day of numbing out, losing my self. Babysitting my amygdala. Observe. Behold. And help her away from the edge. Stay with, Erliss, stay with.
There are things I do to keep her from falling away completely. I did them all today. Pray, tap, yoga, meditate, vocalizations, gratitude, connect. Still I feel suffocated. I am told this can happen. Not to worry, don’t be afraid. It’s just the body doing “it’s thing.”
This is why you are here, Erliss. To watch her, to make sure she is safe and help her be curious.
It’s here – the oily asphalt is paving a highway on my body, the highway to hell, where the gnashing of teeth and groans of the dead and call of the devil itself reign… Let’s not go there, dear one. Trust me, it won’t help.
My skin feels like it is pulling itself away from me. It’s ashamed of me. Disgusted. Readying to elope.
Good luck on your own, skin. You kind of need the rest of me to get anywhere, just sayin’.
I have to leave the house soon, and I don’t feel my body.
Wiggle your toes. Put them on the floor, wiggle your toes. Feel each toe. Feel the air come into your nose. Feel it slide down the back of your throat. Hear the sounds – like the ocean. Look out the window and watch the trees dance. Smell some peppermint. Mmmm…
I have a hunch I need to let go of the judgments. The thought that my own skin wants to run away from home and the whole “highway to hell” thing increase panic in my system. The point in noticing my sensations is not to judge them, but to let them be and move through whatever cycle or process my body needs to experience. (Barf.) I know this, but my brain is in the habit of assigning meaning as a form of control. I want to feel in control. But that is illusory. My ways of exerting control over my body have not helped. Sigh. And I honor those attempts anyway. No point in beating myself up for beating myself up.
Good try, Erliss. You are doing your best.
OK, I have to drive.I have an AA meeting, then therapy with a Somatic Experiencing guy. Maybe they will help me back to my self. Or at least give me a chance to visit her.
I will listen to some AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and Metallica on the way. That’s the best therapy I know.
https://youtu.be/a3HemKGDavw
Now I can go.
Much love,
Erliss
P.S. The image at the top is The Scream, 1893 by Edvard Munch. A favorite of mine.
To find out more about him go to his website: http://www.edvardmunch.org/