Sometimes I can’t breathe.
It’s too much, too many, too fast and I can’t catch my breath.
Most of the time I don’t see it coming, things are going along just fine and then all at once they are not. People close to me will say that they saw it, they knew, but I must have had my head in the sand because I was happy, fine, until I wasn’t. Until I found myself gasping.
This will pass, my lungs will open up, the sky will clear and it will pass. I know because it’s happened before, but when I’m in it, when I’m not sure how many more waves I can take, I forget. That’s where the danger sits, in the forgetting.
I’ve never been to the edge of losing myself, but I can understand it. I can see how what I’m feeling taken one or two leaps forward could make a person tired. In that exhaustion they forget that soon, very soon, the sun will be out again. It’s the third to the last wave and they let go.
My life doesn’t even rate on the struggle scale, or the tragic chart. I have health and happy. I love and I am loved. I have absolutely no room, no reason to complain. Ever.
But, sometimes I can’t breathe, and then I can.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Deep Sleep.