Thursday, August 2, 2012

Crickets on the Fairground

Back to reality. The zinnia and the morning glories were glad enough to get the rain yesterday. And Mary and her family came over for a pool party. Swimming in the rain, while the sun is shining, is nothing to be sneezed at, in my opinion.

One of the unicorn meat eating cats loves company, and came out to be loved on. The other never saw daylight. The dog, Max, loves all those kids coming to visit him. I love all those kids coming to visit me.

But dear Mary: when you ask her over for dinner, she brings all the food and more. Just having her goddess like proportions to hug made my pulse slow. Now I know why ancient peoples depicted the Goddess with a large stomach and breasts. She is mother, she keeps fear at bay, she promises tomorrow and a successful hunt.

She was a good answer, life always is, to the anxiety that hovered over me all day, and eventually came to inhabit my body. It's like a storekeeper renting a space to sell his fresh produce. There is a calm, empty lot and presto! You turn around and all the other Bad Things That Happen to you have come to set their tents, too.

You look at their wares. You have mental illness; you have to. There is no choice involved. There is nothing particularly toothsome that you want to buy, but your body insists, like a thirsty child asking for water. You hear the far cry of the vendors you don't want to meet in the distance. "One drink won't hurt." "You can't handle this stress, take a pill, snort this, let's share this needle" later and all the work you and your therapist have done is gone. Like dust settling after a rain. 

You're left alone on the fairground, panting into the dirt.

I survived yesterday without a drink. That sanity didn't survive with me is not the point. My mind knows when to come and go. That's dissociation. It's a survival reflex, fight or flight, gone haywire. And all the therapy, the endless drills and tears, the careful building of networks, has paid off.

And you realize then that, despite the store owners' promises, there was nothing to really lose but yourself. That's the highest stake, the prize for a good fight. A storm of fear has left you alone, clinging to the earth, surrounded by the animals and the zinnia and the quiet dark. And this blank page.

No comments:

Post a Comment