Ch 1 ~ Dammit … It Happened
You’re never alone. Until of course the moment when you are.
I’m not talking about being lost. You know, those moments when you have no idea what direction you’re heading in or which way you should be going, and not having the sense to ask for guidance. What I’m talking about isn’t as straight forward as that bit of confusion. It’s not so much about the head or rational mind, or about choices even. In some ways…it’s not. But I suppose in other ways, it could be.
Sudden mental flashback…
“Everyone makes choices!”
A very nice fellow gym rat had said this to me on a particularly hot Memorial Day weekend, when die-hard gym rats like myself and like Christine (the one who made the comment) managed to work in at least a partial routine before the perennial holiday barbecues or holiday do-your-own-thing, whatever the case may be. Chris and I and the other die-hard gym rats, though, we had our priorities straight, living right smack dab into the gym culture. Counting out reps happened first, and on a variety of pieces of equipment, before we shared a greeting of “hey” to each other from across the all-purpose room, which in and of itself was an obstacle course of its own making, cluttered on every side with bikes, steps, kettle balls, ropes, TR machine, a punching bag. You name it. Even, as it would happen on that particular day, a partial conversation about life.
A twitter sound byte really, but one that packed quite a punch when you thought about it. …and as it so happens, as I lay on this cot with my body nowhere to be found, and my sight and my mind blanketed in a complete Grey-White Haze and my heart scared out of its wits, I’m still thinking about it.
“Everyone’s got choices,” Christine said with the confidence of a power lifter. She exhaled on the lift, inhaled on the release. Her eyebrows flexed, deep, deep, deep in concentration as she curled the statement out into the world. Making completely sure she had complete control over it.
“And everyone makes choices,” she added (nearly grunted) for extra measure. Almost as if she had decided to test her level of control by bench pressing This Little Thing Called Life through a fourth set of reps.
Too easy, Sarge! my mind bellowed.
Too easy, indeed, something in me laughed ruefully at the irony as I lay completely helpless. No sense of direction. No sense of place. No sense of comraderie. And no one to ask. No one to answer.
And no sense of future because I am smothered unmistakeably in the utter and complete Terror of the Now, a terror which brings with it this Grey-White Haze kind of day that it is, along with what is for me the very real, incredibly awful Terror of Knowing.
Too easy, I scream in silence from the very center of my paralyzed mind. Too easy, I weep. Far, far too easy to completely fall apart.
And so for a moment — at least in this moment — I do.
All the things I still, even right now, cannot say.
All the things I cannot bring too close to me to feel.
All the things I simply right now must not even allow myself to ever hear. Ever.
Until I do.