Bringing on the heartache
25 February 2011 04:36 PM Categories: The struggle | Writing prompts
The scene in the therapist’s office this morning, a walk through damp breezes with the threat of rain behind sunshine, another chance to get soaked, and there I am with this motherly thoughtful woman. It was our third meeting and right away I launched into it.I can’t tell you about that here. That’s private stuff, things you are not yet privy to, things that need airing out in other areas of my life before I go there with you. Gentle Reader.
There are some things I can tell you, about threat and invisibility, about boxes and strategies and avoidance. Let’s say you feel invisible to the ones who love you. Let’s say this is a very familiar feeling, the invisibility. Combine it with another deep feeling, of being unlovable. OK. You feel unlovable. You also – lucky you – feel invisible. Maybe it’s safer to stay in a place where no one sees you, where you are invisible, because then you don’t need to deal with the push/pull of self-hatred and worry.
You’re there already, though, and trying so hard to stay in the moment. Your therapist tells you to be with your feelings, in the moment, too, and you keep on working at it, to let the feeling be without escaping (not that you always succeed on this one). The ache in your heart that you’ve been carrying around for so long? It extends low, deep, and high. Your torso is pain. You feel the pain and it doesn’t destroy you. In fact, you feel more alive because of it.
And not. See how I distance myself from all of this but using the term “you”? Do you think I’m scared? Yes. Do I have reason to be? Of course.
Outside the sun is being pushed out by wind and clouds again. The moment in the sunshine, the moment of clarity, is covering itself over. When the clouds come, I’m even less rational. How does my body feel? My chest aches. My throat hurts. My head is tight and dry. I am in the moment and I want to know when the moment will end.
I took on a man once, took him on because I wanted to, though I didn’t know what I wanted. I took him on and he me, and then he left. And I wanted to know: was it me? Or my situation? It's me, it's always me. That's the old story, anyway, one that I fight even as I let it exist. And the ache, it gets even deeper, if you can imagine it, straight into my heart. It amazes me, this feeling, how symbolic and true it is all at once. Heartache. What’s the physiology of it?
How are we centered both in our chests and in our heads?
From a totally unrelated prompt: No plastic surgery. I wrote about what I wanted to write about. Also barely edited. I'm beginning to like these spur-of-the-moment insta-blog posts.
Image by GrungeTextures.
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