Today and tonight, I’ve felt paralysed. Paralysed with pain – physical and emotional. Pain like I want to say I’ve never felt before, but that’s not true. It’s a pain I’ve become so familiar with this last year, increasing in intensity as I see the months through. It’s a pain that ends pain, but it’s a fucking horrible one. It’s like my body contorts, and the demons strike out, trying to stop me breaking free. It’s like all the misty regrets, beaten into me by my mum, get the chance to nestle out and break free from what once was their home inside of me. In these paralysed moments, right before I break down, I
In these paralysed moments all I can do is either sit and think, or sit and sob. My body cannot move, my brain can’t do rational. If I’m sitting and thinking, what happens is a jarring, a pre-crash. Thoughts flood, fears take control. My body begins to fester with the emotions circling inside. I’m left searching for some control, but it’s nowhere to be found. I avoid the tears and instead am paralysed by fears. But despite the pain that comes from the former, it’s WAY nicer than the latter. Finally, it happens. I fall. When i let myself do this, when I let this happen – as i have done tonight – through the sobs and the pain, there’s a clarity again. There’s a reminder that I’m in a process. There’s a reminder that I’m still me.
The paralysis feels permanent when I’m in the middle of these feelings. The paralysis feels like I’ve been baked in concrete, leaving movement impossible. All I can do is hope, and feel, and hope, and feel. It’s fucking scary and it’s fucking horrible. Sometimes the clarity comes quick, other times my brains too flooded to find it so. But it’s still there, even if just in little bits. Love, a sense of connection, and a knowing I belong, is what gets me through these moments. I hold a stone and feel sheltered by the earth. I hear the desperate cry for love and text a friend. I hold tight to my phone and feel the connection to those I love. I let myself feel not alone. I wrap myself up in a duvet and stroke my arms, cuddle my body, and rub my feet. Other times I can only cry, but always when I feel safe. All I want is love in these moments. All I want is to know I’m safe. All I want is someone there to hold me, and so I’m continuing to learn how to be creative with my space when paralysis and grief hits, to make me know I am – I am loved, connected and safe. And I most certainly belong.
The paralysis feels never ending, and sometimes I’m pretty sure it is. Yet somehow, from somewhere, from some place deep within, comes an ability to get up again. To find my feet and get a drink or go downstairs for food. It feels like I need to or will do or have to do this forever, but I’m pretty sure I don’t, and I won’t. It just feels like it.
And in these moments of paralysis, I’m doing the opposite to my heart – I’m opening it.