The Calm during the Storm
By Ella
The luminous natural light shining into my all-white shower illuminates a heavenly gaze onto my bleeding, blistered body. I wouldn’t consider myself particularly religious, but today I'm certain there's a divine presence holding me upright as I feebly fight for stability. Today my open wounds leave a sea of crimson dancing down the drain, my neck frozen straight to combat the blaring whiplash.
Today I believe in God.
Earlier, a pouring shower of glass had left me concussed and upside down. It was a tranquil roller-coaster ride, a seemingly peaceful experience as my body ascended and accepted the force. Constantly burdened by an intrusive inner monologue, I was surprisingly soothed by the sharp dissociation. It was a near-death car crash, but somehow one of the most relaxing experiences of my life.
My life had been spared by a 1999 tow truck housing an unbelievably rare interior design that ultimately guarded my life. The sight of the truck alone was enough to send people at the scene into hysterics. I gather when a car looks like that, you are supposed to die. The eccentric EMT called it a miracle. God called it a favor. I call it my most bittersweet memory.
Vacantly wiping the blood away, I am surreally empty as I shower. This is new for me, the chronic overthinker staring into the distance with sullen eyes. I hyper-fixate on the ceiling as I shower, void of meaning. Without any medication in my system, my dazed reflection acts as the most potent narcotic.
It's bewildering how fast life ebbs and flows. Just a month earlier, the suffocatingly humid air of Miami smelled like success and teen spirit. Up until a few days before, my mother had ardently refused to let me go, exclaiming how ridiculous and unsafe it was. We were 17. I agreed, even then. But I craved it, longing for the exhilaration of me and my friends dancing in the sun and acting older than we actually were. It all seemed so grand.
Suddenly, my friends were discussing reservations at trendy restaurants without a mention of going anywhere other than Miami. That must be why my mother caved on her own accord, quietly pulling up the airfare for that weekend while weakly uttering “I don’t want you to miss out”. Quickly, all my savings were down the drain, and I was packing my yellow polka-dot bikini in a small, battered carry-on.
On our first night there, we shuffled back to our hotel rooms eager to prolong the night. We energetically jumped on the massive white bed in our way-too-short dresses. My head hit the ceiling, and I rolled around laughing as background music roared on. It felt like a scene from an unrealistic teen drama, and I joyfully thanked my lucky stars I had made it.
After everyone went back to their room, I got in bed eager to doze off. It was close to 2 AM, and I stared vacantly into the darkness to calm my body. My inner monologue flowed relentlessly, only exciting my nerves to stay up. There was a creeping void inside my stomach that only seemed to grow as it got later and later. My strange uneasiness was only fueled as I began to fixate on time, physically feeling as if I was going to run out of seconds. Or out of air, as my chest tightened and the butterflies in my stomach sharpened their wings. I felt viciously hot as every manual breath stung my diaphragm. The heaviness weighing on me forced me to take large gulps, choking to find whatever air was left in my lungs. Laying immobile, I silently prayed for my well-being.
My breath finally came back after what felt like hours, and I looked at the time. It was 4:37 AM. I then laid awake all night in an anxious, stomach-severing, pit of nerves. Finally, when the sun rose, I got out of bed nonchalantly to put on sunscreen and my yellow polka-dot bikini. I had just had my first panic attack (and certainly not my last) in a beautiful hotel room overlooking the beach. Yawning profusely from my lack of sleep, I didn’t tell anyone about my nightmare of a night. I assured myself nothing was wrong while consciously sequestering any sentiments of anxiety. Miami was picture-perfect, and I tried to be as well.
Later that month, my body felt uneasy during the most celebratory of times. When I blew out my candles on my 18th birthday cake, my dad reminded me to “make a wish!” Every year I wished for the happiness and health of me and my loved ones, taking a moment to relish the warmth of those around me. But this year, my mood regressed sourly as I thought about the ways happiness and especially health can regress. An intrusive chain of thoughts urged me to think about growing older and the possibility of death waiting mercilessly around the corner.
As I eat my chocolate cake, that familiar pit-like sensation returns to my stomach. I try to push it to the deepest parts of my being, wondering if it's inherently selfish to ruin your own happiness.
It was in these moments that I always seemed to think of God the most, specifically when I needed something. I was the equivalent of that friend who only comes around when she has a bad breakup, forgetting about you when there's a new swooning love interest. I now think I was rather human, which doesn’t equate to a “get out of jail free card” but is certainly worth something.
A month later, my parents prayed when I was in the hospital. I wonder if the people on the street had also prayed when they saw the utter collapse of the 1999 pickup truck. Even if they were selfless in their desires, they still wanted something. It's rather ironic. When my cuts sting in the shower, I do not feel the sentiment of needing anything. I grasp desperately for emotion or even words, without tangibly holding anything.
And there it is. A subtle juxtaposition to all that I have ever known; a dissonance in the looming anxiety that had gradually piled up. Like a weatherman, I had lived life constantly dreading the storm, overanalyzing every mere drizzle of rain. But now it had rained and poured, and I was burnt out from caring at all.
My minimal stability is jolted by a robust tap on the shower curtain. In my drowsy state, I cannot comprehend why my kitten is staring into my shower with bright blue eyes. My cat enhances my sense of disbelief, perching herself on the shower ledge and focusing her gaze on me.
All of a sudden, I can't look away from the disturbing pool of blood juxtaposing the beautiful white marble shower. I realize the severity of the situation, the bitter truth separating before and after. I realize I'm in the after, because my body is gashed and there's broken glass everywhere.
Upon seeing my kitten in the shower there's a silent catharsis. The shower covers the sounds as I begin to cry, naked and exposed. As cold tears pour, I mourn all the moments I shed away in worry. As if accepting my survival could take back all my previous doubts, I feel somber clarity. The anxiety reaching its peak throughout the last few months suddenly halts, seeming trivial now in the scope of things.
I ask myself what it was all for, the stream of constant anxiety that has progressively plagued me. Now the coin had flipped, and my worst anxieties had come true. What now? Will my fear of everything rise like the tide, or will it flow back and retreat?
I’m not sure who I am with a constant rain cloud hanging over me. Maybe I'm lucky enough to have things worth missing, desires worth yearning for. I suddenly noticed my cat’s brown fur was soaked from the shower’s stream. She stays put, a strange phenomenon for felines who are typically hydrophobic. Somehow this validates that there's a plan for me, more life left ahead.
I think about God and all those times I anxiously craved something beyond minor. It's funny now as I delicately extract glass shards out of my hair. I wonder how many people prayed in the hospital at the same time as my parents. I wonder if those prayers were more genuine, more emotionally volatile than the ones in church.
I implore myself to be better than I have been as the cold water sinks deeper into my open cuts. I reminisce on everything I'm grateful for, everything that has continuously gone right when I worried it wouldn't. At this very moment, I don’t feel like I need anything, for I am overcome by gratitude. I simply put my face under the cold tap to reinvigorate my feeling of being alive.
Then, I put my hands together because this seems like a good time to pray.
About the Author
Ella is a third-year student at Northeastern University, studying psychology and behavioral neuroscience. In her free time, she is a part of numerous research groups on campus and loves creative writing and fictional storytelling.
Photo credit: Joy Stamp