You've been here before. You know these shores well, and you greet them with a tired, almost exasperated sigh. Once again you find yourself transported to this dreary sky, this grey ocean. It's not particularly dark here - foggy, sometimes, but never completely dark - even though the sun never seems to shine. Sometimes you get glimpses of light through the heavy clouds, but they're gone too quickly to be sure that they're real. Sunlight can be hard to remember when you don't feel its warmth.
The dull sand beneath your feet is coarse. It makes your feet prickle. Your hands tingle with the feeling of the oncoming storm. It crackles in the air around you like unbroken thunder, and though sometimes the ground rumbles and shudders, the noise never seems to break. Sometimes it's the quiet that makes you the most unnerved. The sense of something coming, some impending shadow that you know lingers beneath the waves, poised and ready to strike. Running doesn't work here. The more your nerves become pronounced, the more your feet sink into the sand. Already you're up to your ankles. It wouldn't really matter if they were above the ground, anyway. This place doesn't actually exist - it's all in your head. It's not like running will get you very far.
A tremble vibrates through the earth, up through your legs, right into your chest. Your heartbeat quickens. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, and your body can't decide if it's hot or cold. You break out in a sweat as the water rises, lapping at your legs. It, too, is neither hot or cold. As the waves reach your knees, your teeth begin to chatter. All around you is endless ocean. Above is a dense, leering sky, pressing down upon you and thickening the air you breath. You try not notice the tightness in your chest. The pounding of your pulse. You can pretend to ignore the tide all you want, but ignorance has never made it go away. If anything, it seems to delight in this. To the tide, your stubbornness is a confession; it knows you're scared. It knows it's winning.
Your body is both an armor and a prison. You're trapped behind walls, but they're not made of steel. Like metal bends in the heat of a fire, your body cannot help but react to the water. Tempering, twisting, altering your thoughts. This is your body, but while the storm rages, you can't seem to control it. But this is also your body; and you know that you will control it again. You may be disconnected from your physical self now - a small subconscious, looking out through the windows of your eyes - but you know that the storm will pass. The storm will pass. Because you've been here before, and you know these shores well.
You hate coming here. You really, really hate coming here. This isn't the sand you love, the sea you love, the sky you love. You hate feeling apart from yourself, you hate the sense of panic and fear, you hate the loss of control, and you hate that you are the person who made this place.
But the more you come here, the more you know what to expect. The more you become familiar with these feelings, these emotions. And you know, without a doubt - which is surprising, because doubt can cause so much anxiety - that the storm, eventually, does pass. Every storm has to end. And when it does, you will still be here.
It could take minutes, or it could take hours, or it could take days. All you know is that you're still standing and, for a split second, you thought you saw a glimmer of light overhead. As if on cue, the storm begins to tire. It's very gradual, at first. The water becomes a bit less rough; white tipped waves sink back down into its depths, and the tide begins to recede. You'd been nearly up to your neck, but now it's moving down past your chest, your legs, your ankles. Then it's creeping back down the sand, back into itself. It's still quiet here, but it's becoming a different kind of quiet. A calm quiet. You close your eyes and take in deep, relieving breaths; the air is not so heavy anymore. The tightness in your chest is gone, your arms and legs no longer feel like lead, the tingling and prickling in your hands and feet disappear. You feel tired, now. Exhausted. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is gone, but so is your energy. That's the payoff for making it through the storm; the tides drain you.
You open your eyes and blink at the scene in front of you. It's very different now. A warm lavender sky stretches overhead, blushed with hints of pink and gold, while a plethora of stars twinkle down at you. The water is a calm, almost dull blue, but it makes you happy to see. You wriggle your toes in the soft, powdery sand. All of this is in your head again, yes. But you don't mind being here for a little while. This is the sky you love, the sea you love, the sand you love. Once you feel better you'll open your eyes - really open your eyes, back to the real world - but for now, this is where you need to be. A place of calm, a place of quiet victory; of triumph over yourself. So you sit down on the shoreline, arms hugging your legs, chin resting on your knees, and you know.
You are okay.
The dull sand beneath your feet is coarse. It makes your feet prickle. Your hands tingle with the feeling of the oncoming storm. It crackles in the air around you like unbroken thunder, and though sometimes the ground rumbles and shudders, the noise never seems to break. Sometimes it's the quiet that makes you the most unnerved. The sense of something coming, some impending shadow that you know lingers beneath the waves, poised and ready to strike. Running doesn't work here. The more your nerves become pronounced, the more your feet sink into the sand. Already you're up to your ankles. It wouldn't really matter if they were above the ground, anyway. This place doesn't actually exist - it's all in your head. It's not like running will get you very far.
A tremble vibrates through the earth, up through your legs, right into your chest. Your heartbeat quickens. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, and your body can't decide if it's hot or cold. You break out in a sweat as the water rises, lapping at your legs. It, too, is neither hot or cold. As the waves reach your knees, your teeth begin to chatter. All around you is endless ocean. Above is a dense, leering sky, pressing down upon you and thickening the air you breath. You try not notice the tightness in your chest. The pounding of your pulse. You can pretend to ignore the tide all you want, but ignorance has never made it go away. If anything, it seems to delight in this. To the tide, your stubbornness is a confession; it knows you're scared. It knows it's winning.
Your body is both an armor and a prison. You're trapped behind walls, but they're not made of steel. Like metal bends in the heat of a fire, your body cannot help but react to the water. Tempering, twisting, altering your thoughts. This is your body, but while the storm rages, you can't seem to control it. But this is also your body; and you know that you will control it again. You may be disconnected from your physical self now - a small subconscious, looking out through the windows of your eyes - but you know that the storm will pass. The storm will pass. Because you've been here before, and you know these shores well.
You hate coming here. You really, really hate coming here. This isn't the sand you love, the sea you love, the sky you love. You hate feeling apart from yourself, you hate the sense of panic and fear, you hate the loss of control, and you hate that you are the person who made this place.
But the more you come here, the more you know what to expect. The more you become familiar with these feelings, these emotions. And you know, without a doubt - which is surprising, because doubt can cause so much anxiety - that the storm, eventually, does pass. Every storm has to end. And when it does, you will still be here.
It could take minutes, or it could take hours, or it could take days. All you know is that you're still standing and, for a split second, you thought you saw a glimmer of light overhead. As if on cue, the storm begins to tire. It's very gradual, at first. The water becomes a bit less rough; white tipped waves sink back down into its depths, and the tide begins to recede. You'd been nearly up to your neck, but now it's moving down past your chest, your legs, your ankles. Then it's creeping back down the sand, back into itself. It's still quiet here, but it's becoming a different kind of quiet. A calm quiet. You close your eyes and take in deep, relieving breaths; the air is not so heavy anymore. The tightness in your chest is gone, your arms and legs no longer feel like lead, the tingling and prickling in your hands and feet disappear. You feel tired, now. Exhausted. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is gone, but so is your energy. That's the payoff for making it through the storm; the tides drain you.
You open your eyes and blink at the scene in front of you. It's very different now. A warm lavender sky stretches overhead, blushed with hints of pink and gold, while a plethora of stars twinkle down at you. The water is a calm, almost dull blue, but it makes you happy to see. You wriggle your toes in the soft, powdery sand. All of this is in your head again, yes. But you don't mind being here for a little while. This is the sky you love, the sea you love, the sand you love. Once you feel better you'll open your eyes - really open your eyes, back to the real world - but for now, this is where you need to be. A place of calm, a place of quiet victory; of triumph over yourself. So you sit down on the shoreline, arms hugging your legs, chin resting on your knees, and you know.
You are okay.
