In The Dark

Waves

I surface through my own mind. It is dark but I sense a long series of plateaus. I float through them blindly. Something is compelling me upwards. Waves blossom in my brain. Are they water, sound, smells or hands soothing? Something buffets me over and over again. Something pulls and pushes at my body. Bubbles suck back into your mouth. Breaths without oxygen. I stay as still as death dreaming of balance.

Awake and gasping aloud. My open mouth gorges on the air. Feel a grid of pain. Body mapped by needles and constraints. My breath sounds full of claws ripping as if I was a machine consuming myself. Where have the waves gone? Their memory holds my rhythm, rocking me still although I am static. Beyond static - I am bound. Only my thoughts hum and sway to the waves. Darting fishy thoughts at the bottom of a dense ocean.

A red light flashes like an exposed heart beating. It pings to itself trying to be heard above the constant human noise. Feet hit the ground and mouths mutter. They are frightening because they’re muffled. The strangled sounds have no integrity. They lack the constancy of waves. Where are my waves? They held the secrets of who I used to be or could be in future. I would reach out for them again but you cannot grope for waves. You must resist and be strong enough to withstand them. This me cannot oppose anything or lift myself at all.

Where am I? It feels like the kind of place that can redefine you. With its narrowness and its mean, harsh lights. Probing into my blinking eyes. Burning white worms devour what they see. I try to squirm away from the unexpected instruments. This is not the journey I’d prepared for.

Have I had a terrible accident? It’s easier than you’d think to move from one state of being to another. It’s far easier to lose function than to gain it repetition by slow repetition. You assume your personality is as faithful as a dog. You do not see that all its ghosts haunt you. You are different every day. None of the books, people and concepts you use as mirrors show you clearly.

Which end of the helter-skelter is this? Can I remember my life? The only images that emerge are foggy nothings – dreams I half-remembered on waking and then forgot. Went searching after ever since to try and wring them dry of truth. The waves feel closer again. Do they wait or are they lost to me? If they return will they take me with them?

Is this the first or the last time I see her face? She gathers my head to her chest and holds me firm as her pulse floods in.