Songs of disconnection and reconnection
I am that lady grounding for her life, across sidewalks and slowing at intersections. Helping myself stay here and accepting the fading.
— Kat (@Ask_anAspergirl) March 1, 2015
Dear calves, you move me place-to-place — steadying me as I feel like shaking, am shaking, as body is here — brain across town. You linger with me as I hop and tap. Learning to remain here — pieces of me sustaining oneself.
Body and brain in disconnect, we find ourselves here — in the in-between. I fade, you see. Blonde eyelashes to block out the noise of outside — inside. Too close and too far away at the same time — trying to prevent an imminent shutdown. Letting it happen.
I wrap my arms around my diaphragm, trying to remember how to breathe, then sing instead. Keeping time in 4/4, 8/8, 16ths with my boots — shoes touch earth. Remembering how to ground.
Fading and remaining here — feeling in-between the tangles — finding myself here again. In the fear. In the death grip of pen to paper, I describe what I think happens when I fade away — both too far and too close.
Self-acceptance is letting myself go — practicing in the in-between. Letting myself just be there. In the fading being. Fitting. Belonging. Remembering to breathe, slowly and deeply.
You are here in this place. I am here in this place, she reassured herself.
It’s a mild form of dissociation, she said. I don’t lose time, so much as fade away in fear — to lose control is terrifying. To let body and mind part from utter exhaustion, to accept the fading feels like a loss.
Not me, yet me entirely; in this fear, I remain drawn back in rhythm and scripted dialogues — of a future calmer. Then now, of going on and then stopping entirely — pausing because she has no other option but to wait with a body betrayed — as her knees shake and mind runs.
She is here. Waiting with her breath — voice beside her.
The only way out of this is acceptance. Going through and eventually arriving at a place between utter exhaustion and latent calm.
I am learning to tesser. To be terrifyingly in-between: space of there and not there. I’ve sat with this fading; eventually brain returned. — Kat (@Ask_anAspergirl) February 28, 2015