In Here

2004.

Steam creeps up the glass door of the shower until I am completely enclosed. The heat pours over my body like a warm embrace. It is so cold out there. In here is where I come to be alone and hide, not only from the world, but from myself. Some days are easier than others. Some days I can be rational and control my fear, reason with my anxiety, and conquer the panic. Today is not one of those days.

The drumming of the water against the shower wall becomes a distant drone, a quiet constant to remind me, I am still here. I don’t like to feel sorry for myself. I know I am fortunate, and I could be dealing with far more serious obstacles on a daily basis, but I can only tell myself to keep my chin up for so long. I need my break down time.

My therapist tells me that heat boosts serotonin levels. Maybe that’s why I feel safe in here. She also tells me to take deep breaths to help calm down. How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even feel like breathing? I’ve been told, by many people, that this is normal. That more people than I would expect suffer from phobias, and panic disorders. I guess that’s supposed to make me feel like I can get through this. It doesn’t make it any easier.

In side these plastic shower walls I’m allowed to be small, scared, and hopeless. My mother doesn’t have to see my tears, and I in turn don’t have to see hers. Years and years of my constant need for security, comfort and safety have left her weary and defeated. In here I don’t have to look at the medicine bottles. Little white capsules that my psychiatrist claims are filled with happiness and reason. The bottles scare me, am I not good enough on my own? I don’t like needing medicine to make me whole. He says they will help, so now I just have to wait.

I close my eyes and think of a simpler time. I remember from a high school psychology class that water, subconsciously reminds us of the womb, therefore of safety and comfort. With this in mind I slowly shift my weight to the side and lower myself onto the bottom of the bath. My cheek pressed against the cold plastic, I pull my knees up under my chin.

Holding myself in fetal position I let the warm water run down my body; surround me. I forget the world, while I try to forget myself. The temperature is slowly cooling, and I know soon the hot water will be gone. I pull tighter around my legs wondering how small I can become, and if I am so small, maybe everything else will seem smaller too.

Inevitably the cold breaks through telling me it’s time to pull myself up again. I stretch my hands over my head, and let the icy water bring me back to my senses. Breakdown time is over. I flip the shower control to off, and with the water, off go my self-pity, and feelings of hopelessness. I wipe away lost tears, take a deep breath, and lift my chin up.

Moutain Town.

I couldn't breath.

Not because the Eliptical was kicking my ass, but because..
well I didn't know why.
All I knew was that I had to get out of the gym.


I grabbed my water and car keys and headed down the steps, pushing through the glass doors And out into the decieving sunlight.

The wind pierced at my body turning my sweat into what felt like Ice.
I hunched over and pulled on my hoodie and windbreaker, turned up my music and walked.

I had a thought as to where I was going.

But it was only 430 and he wouldnt be out of work for quite a while. Besides. What do I want from him? what good can it possibly do?



I decided to just walk, and feel sorry for myself for a while.
Lincoln st is my favorite route to the south side of portsmouth.

Alex woodard sang to me as I kicked tree roots along the sidewalk.
Sunglasses on , off, on again. My face contorting with every cross street.
I wished I could just cry and get it over with. I felt on the edge of something.
The edge of my sanity,
Patience,
Strength,
Life.

I played a song on repeat for the entire walk. It was the only way I could center in on my thoughts.
Try to harmonize the sadness to the "Mountain Town".

I contemplated the options. What did I want to do? And what did I just want to, want to do.
I wanted to walk away.
From what?
Just away.
Doesnt matter what you want.
Only what you do about it.
Sometimes I have the guts, but when it really matters. I dont. not yet.

Not sure why but I took a left down Kent st. I never went this way.
Its always South St.
As I came to the end of the road, and looked down over south mill pond, my eyes settled on that blue.
Sets a panic off in my skin everytime.
The same way his eyes do.


I sat on a bench in the sun and counted down the hour.
What would I do?
Probablly leave when I saw his silohouette coming across the water.
Walk home, and think of all the things I should have said. Should have done.

When the time came. I glanced up and down awkwardlly while I tried to play it off like I hadnt sat waiting for him. But I knew he knew. I didnt mind.

Small talk. But not really.. Small talk is the most important with people you care about.

He put his arms around me, and I held on for dear life.
He sensed the urgency in my embrace and pulled me in close, and hard.
I fell over the edge of whatever I had been balancing on for the past few hours.
Shaking, and silent.
It seems that when You dont have to be your own boundary, and someone else wraps you away, you can let everything melt.

I pulled away and looked up, and his eyes asked me.
I sputtered out "it's not you. or me. Not you and me, I mean. this."
"Ok ok" he said while he pulled me back in.

I didnt need words, and didnt need answers.
There I was, with mascara tears staining my face, in his arms, in the park, in the middle of the afternoon. And I think that is all I wanted.

To be able to let it all go while someone held me together.

With my face pressed into his cotton shirt and his smell setteling throughout my body, our bodies like two edge pieces, I mumbled..
"There's a lot of shitty people, that dont give a fuck... It makes me miss the people that do."
If it were possible, I would have pulled him closer.

Another Beginning

This isn't a story, so that you can feel sorry for me. That is not what I expect. I just want to explain.

I know that there are so many more difficulties in this world that people have to endure.
I have always felt a deep guilt for how I have spent so many days, disabled, by my "condition", when there are millions of people in this world who would die to be in my shoes.
The whole while I was trying to escape my own skin.

My mother always told me to focus on other peoples problems, to think about people that have real things to worry about. She hoped it would distract me from wallowing in my own fears.

Im not implying that she was short with me, or impatient. Without her I don't know how I would have arrived here today, or even if I would have. Period.

You see, I have spent years analyzing, disecting, fighting, bargaining, praying, crying and exploring this crippling fear that has consumed me. I have come to some conclusions:

1)Your fears, problems, and feelings are all relative. You can't compare your reaction to someone elses, or your problems to anothers. You feal, react and function in relation to what you have felt, endured and experienced in your own reality. If you cannot commit to your feelings because of guilt or doubt then you will never be able to confront them, and own them.

2) It's ok, to not be okay.

3)You cannot explain to someone what it is like to have a phobia. Unless they have in someway or another experienced within themselves the complete and terrifying power that the mind can hold over your ability to reason with reality.
The more you explain to someone just how many aspects of your life are completely altered by rituals and techniques in order to avoid some type of mental trigger, the crazier you will seem. People don't understand that a rational and sensible person can fall victim to their own mind. I think people can be unwilling to accept that there are things about us that sometimes we cannot control.

Cold Sheets