Swimming Ashore
Little things, comforting sad songs, and being present
My eyes dart forward to the bottom of the screen, the suspense is building and I can’t help myself. I thank god — whom I don’t believe in that there’s a Kindle in my hand instead of a paperback. There’s less for me to know, less to worry about. And I drag myself back to the second paragraph. First line.
Let’s do this again, shall we? I blow air out instead of sucking it in.
I’ve been feeling sick all day. A touch of nausea, intermittent claustrophobia, and some twisted knots in my stomach. Classic Anxiety starter kit. I make things easy for myself. Trim my nails because they’ve been bothering me. It’s quite dry under them and I need to moisturize.
I turn the sound on my phone, for the first time in two weeks, because the taps soothe me. It makes my typing feel more real as if my words weighed more. It has value, I repeat to myself, every task you do, every line you type.
Simulated rain sounds play in my ears because I loathe the silence of these nights. My dilemmas loop and echo, and I want to drown them out. Also in urban dwellings, things never really get quiet. Someone is scraping a wooden chair on the floor at 3 a.m. and the unwanted sound triggers me.
