I haven’t a clue what will come of this, but I have to do something and writing usually helps.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been grappling with the inevitability of my fate – an astute awareness that I will perish and leave my children to deal with life without me. Right now, inside my chest, is an incredibly difficult physical sensation of doom – some call this anxiety, I call it a physiological response to truth of being human; my time is finite but the hour upon which I’ll meet eternal rest remains reclusive like a prodding and painful darkness looming inside my cells. Breathing isn’t so easy, and the strength I have not to crumble is something to be admired, though I’m not sure how long I can sustain this endurance.
The house is quiet and I am entirely alone, the fan blows hot air into the atmosphere which feels comforting, but I want for more than simple comforts now. The floor is littered with toys, dishes in the sink, laundry to be dealt with… Yet I cannot bring myself to face any of that right now, though I wonder if the distraction will help. It has been months since this familiar feeling has crept into my skin and settled deep in my chest, and I resent the messenger, although aware that most of the time, it is trying to teach me something that I need to learn; in this moment I want to crawl away from my body and be free from this buzzing, tormenting sensation that seems to know it can crush me if I allow it.
Facing death is a fascinating thing, and when I think about it, it isn’t so much that I won’t be living anymore, but rather that I’d leave my children without a mother. I wonder if that thought troubles me so considering I know firsthand the outcome of such an event. Yes, it is that – that… As soon as these words fell from my mind to this page the confirmation came in the form of a wave, a very strong wave, and I can feel it from my toes to my fingers and every place between. I hate this, my God how I hate this, yet resistance only makes it more intense. Fuck man. Don’t resist, just let it be.
Let it be.
Breathe. Just… breathe.
The complexity of this astounds me, that I can be present for this kind of internal suffering and still find ways to get through the minutes, hours, the day. What everything inside me wants right now is to scream, to scream so loud the fire leaves my throat and shoots out like an inferno, taking these bad feelings with it. But I can’t do that, I can’t make it stop, it just has to pass, and it always does. It passes. Remember that – it passes, Christina.
Sometimes it feels like it’s not me, like something comes inside and screws up the wiring, puts ends together that shouldn’t meet, and it causes an electrical mis-firing, making my body say what the fuck is that, something is wrong, fix it fix it fix it, fix it or you won’t survive this. That’s what it feels like, and my mind just cannot make sense of it even though I’ve been through this a thousand times before.
It could be the time of year, an emotional flashback, a cellular memory of pain of losing my mother. It could be that something is wrong physically but I have yet to discern it and this is my body’s way of getting my attention. Maybe I just need to eat some eggs and pound some water. Maybe, I really do need to succumb to this, this time, and just let it wreck me before it leaves, and only then will it make itself understood. Maybe, I’m just fucked and it’ll never end, and this is my life now – ah but see, it is never that, clever anxiety plays cruel tricks. Whatever it is, whatever the cause, I really don’t like this at all.
Just. Keep. Breathing.