Chapter 22
My brain is good at tricking me into thinking I am okay.
It does this at night, when I have few responsibilities and I let myself get distracted by the stories on the TV.
The endless hours of the day are behind me; I don’t have to suffer much longer, so my mind tells me I am not.
I am okay. I will be asleep soon, and this feeling will stop.
When I wake up in the morning, there are no more tricks.
The day ahead is a year long, each hour a struggle.
I am overwhelmed by possible futures, hamstrung by traumas in the past. I am a burden on those I love and who love me, and I think they may stop loving me at any moment.
It is hard to put up with someone who crawls along the way I do.
Who cries as much as I do. Who can’t feed herself. Who is afraid of everything.
I have always lived with fears. The green skies of my childhood stretch endlessly over my life.
The trees sway with the warning wind. The sirens have not yet begun, but I feel them in my bones.
My body screams that I am in danger. I must hide.
I must retreat to my cellar. I want everyone I love there with me.
I must know we’ll be safe together, that when the sirens blare and the funnel touches down, I will not be alone.
There must be someone to take care of me.
I long for breezes. A soft touch that breaks up the monotony of the day but carries no danger. I want to listen to the whisper of the trees and know the distant storms that move their branches are not my worry. I want to assure others who wait for sirens that there is nothing to fear.
I had that once, but I don’t remember what it felt like. The memory of peace is swept so quickly away. I am surrounded by sirens. Clouds skuttle across an acid sky. The air smells of fear. Beasts approach on the horizon, screaming; I can’t see them, but I know they are there.
It is night. I am calm. My brain has tricked me. It is quiet and dark here in my cellar, and nothing is trying to hurt me. Tomorrow morning, when I check outside, the wind will tear through me.
I will return to blue skies and breezes. It must be my goal. I can’t say how long it will take, or what hurdles I’ll have to jump, or how deeply I’ll have to dig into my own mind, but I can do nothing else until these tornado days are over.