Below The Spiral

g*d, please save my soul from fear! xoxo

I have been having intensely nostalgic dreams. In some, I miss my family, in others, I miss my friends. The dreams are regretful. I’m aware, in some way, that I have to do something again, in the sense of time—but, if I get another chance, I will lose memory of everything that happened before. In the mornings, I am relieved that I don’t have to forget. In the mornings, I want to do it again. But I know that if I do it again it won't be the same. 

Other recurring dreams are of school shootings—we are in a dark place. I dream about them at least once a week. I look up what it could mean on the internet. There are posts about people who dream of being the perpetrator; I don’t have those dreams. Someone advises the internet that those who dream of shootings have lost their soul, are being metaphorically gunned down. They are not living the life they dream of having. I think about the possibility of this but then read further and discover bible verses. It’s something from Job, something about how g*d can save my soul from fear. Can he?? Please?

When Anna died, my mom bought me a watch with a heartbeat monitor so that I could see that I wasn’t dying or dead. I look up: in what stage of grief do you think you are dead? Nothing comes up. Yesterday, my phone alerted me that my resting heart rate has risen from 51 to 59 in the past 22 weeks. I only wear the watch at school now; my grief has changed. My subconscious speaks. I seem to be on edge. 

I am on edge and the world terrifies me again and again. 

…

I spent the week sick. I am lucky enough to be, just two months in a new rural community, offered care packages, rose hips steeped with licorice and ginger, left in a jar on my counter. I am nearly healed. The night before I got sick, I told A. that I was going to be sick in the morning. I said this to them while sobbing in their lap about things other than colds and flu. They listen to me spiral and hold me until I am below it. 

What is below? Dreams, acceptance, pain, peace, movement, healing, death, time shifting, always. Above is the blur of life. The non-allowance, non-peace. I gasp for air.

When my mom came to visit me in Washington, I took her to the mountains and she cried because she had never seen something like it. I drove my car to the top. The clouds were so thick that you couldn’t see where we were, the edge of the cliff all caught up. It rained and I cowered under my jacket. My mother, the tourist, ran with her blue poncho like a cape. I stood and watched it all, below the spiral.