Wednesday, February 10, 2010

An Ambiance of Technology

This is the third part of what will hopefully be a nine-part entry in the River of Mnemosyne challenge that’s going on over at The Tenth Daughter of Memory.

I can’t breathe.

I’m lying in a dark, dank hole in the ground and there’s something huge and heavy on my chest, crushing me and I can’t breathe.

Above me, in the dark and the shadows, someone is shoveling dirt on me. I can feel it land on my face and my body, filling in the hole around me.

I can’t breathe.

Heart pounding in my chest and gasping for breath, I try to find enough air to drag into my lungs. I’m pinned and suffocating and I can’t get my body to move.

There’s a burning in my chest, like someone’s shoved a spear on fire clean through, front to back.

It burns and I can’t breathe as I sit bolt upright in my bed, scared out of my mind, sweating, shaking, just trying to find enough air to breathe.

With years of practice my husband rolls over and reaches for me, out of habit, still half-asleep. “Are you ok?”

For all that this is our script he never fails to say the words with love and concern.

“No.” I push the strangled word through a dry, tight throat.

I was too damn hot. It was too damn hot in the room and I couldn’t breathe.

I need to move. Throwing the covers back, I roll off the bed, stand locked and rigid. Rapid-fire bursts of light from the changing images on the tv flicker in the dark, dance along the walls.

The only sound in the stillness is the roar of my pulse in my ears.

I grab the tiny bottles on the nightstand and stagger out of the bedroom.

************************

Soft, silver light from the full-moon hanging bright-white in a black sky streams in through the foyer window, meets me at the foot of the stairs.

I throw open the door and step out onto the porch, stand barefoot on the threshold, pulling huge shuddering breaths of cold, clear, night air deep into my lungs.

It’s like a slap in the face, forcing my head to snap back in physical response. The effect on my panic is almost like magic.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The shock is just enough to knock down the terror, the panic, and along with the deep breathing I could feel the anxiety begin to back off just enough, just under the border of panic.

My fingers curl white-knuckled around the bottles in my hand. I don’t need to see the labels to know what they are.

Ambien. Lorazepam. Effexor. Wellbutrin. Clonazepam. Celexa. Buspar.

Mix and match. I think I should be able to sleep for weeks.

Forever.

I think that would be really nice; a really welcome change.

So sad, too bad.

The wind shifts, a cold arctic breeze that sweeps down from the north and slides through trees and power lines already coated with a fine crystalline sheen.

A hard shiver rips through me and I wrap my arms around myself as I back into the house and close the door.

************************

I’m wrapped up in my blanket and the spill of light from the street lamp that pools on my desk top.

Tension coils in my gut, claws its way up and out into my chest, creeps up my spine toward my shoulders. I can feel it trying to wrap its fingers around the base of my neck.

I pop the top on the Lorazapam, shake two pills into the palm of my hand.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I pop the pills and sip on my coffee as I sit and stare at the warm, backlit glow of my monitor and click in the stillness and the dark.

Upstairs my husband and children are sleeping. I imagine I can hear soft breathing and wish I could sleep like they do.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Alone is good. Quiet is good.

Better living through chemistry.

Hunched into myself, I sit and stare and click in the dark as I wait for the pills to kick in.

12 comments:

  1. First off...I love your blog's picture. Absolutely stunning.

    Secondly, I've noticed these Daughter of Memory entries elsewhere. Very cool. I like this. I think you've captured the terror of insomnia and the sadness of dependency beautifully.

    So Sad....Too bad.
    Seems I remember that too. From somewhere, childhood? Maybe a dream.

    Thanks!

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  2. Oh, shit! (can I say that here?) Just read Part II and this one.

    I admit, your genre is not my typical cup of tea, but your skill with the word is quiet outstanding.

    You've got a new subscriber.

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  3. Hi, Yvonne.

    Thank you so much. When I first found it the only thing I could think of was what a perfect fit it was with what I saw in my mind’s eye. And you’re right. It is stunning.

    I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to read some of the entries and I’m really looking forward to it. The ones I have read have been spectacular, so I’m really thrilled about that. And thank you for thinking I’ve done the insomnia and dependency justice. That makes me feel a lot better about things.

    I’m not sure where the line itself comes from, but I first heard it from a friend of mine a long time ago and thought it really captured a lot. So I filed it away for future use. It really does come in handy for covering a multitude of things. :)

    Hi, Jeff.

    Oh, shit! (can I say that here?) Just read Part II and this one.

    LOL! You certainly may say that here.

    I admit, your genre is not my typical cup of tea, but your skill with the word is quiet outstanding.

    Thank you so much. It means a lot to me that you’re willing to go outside you’re your normal likes to read me. I’m grateful. And if you don’t mind my asking a favor, could you tell me what genre is, because I honestly don’t have a freaking clue. :)

    You've got a new subscriber.

    Thank you. I’m honored.

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  4. Hey Sarah -- I did read the other two, this morning and commented on yesterdays.

    I believe your genre is literary fiction. It's the only thing I could come up with to describe you. Besides beautiful.

    One question -- is she supposed to take 4 pills or just two, because you have the same sentence twice and I just wondered. After a dream like that, I would probably take 4.

    Any-hoo, as usual you capture the nuance of the woman (be it you or not) and her panic -- I LOVED this --

    Tension coils in my gut, claws its way up and out into my chest, creeps up my spine toward my shoulders. I can feel it trying to wrap its fingers around the base of my neck.

    Oh God that imagery is soooo creepy, like something out of a horror film. I can see the fingers, eewww, I just gave myself goose-bumps.

    Brilliant dearest, simply brilliant. (I've been writing today, can you tell.)

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  5. Hi PW.

    I believe your genre is literary fiction. It's the only thing I could come up with to describe you. Besides beautiful.

    Thank you. At least now I know what I write. :)

    One question -- is she supposed to take 4 pills or just two, because you have the same sentence twice and I just wondered. After a dream like that, I would probably take 4.

    Ah, the perils of copy and paste when you are moving things around. Good catch. Thank you. It’s fixed now. And this time it’s two. Though I suspect there are more times when it’s four.

    Brilliant dearest, simply brilliant. (I've been writing today, can you tell.)

    Thank you, my dear. I’m glad to hear you’ve been writing.

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  6. Oh my!
    I thought I was used, by now, to the stark landscapes you excel in. I thought that nothing could unsettle me any more.
    Boy, was I wrong!

    Despite knowing that it had to be a nightmare, the beginning crashed down on me like the coldest of showers, and the second part was even more chilling in its simple, almost understated pain.

    And I loved every single word, but most of all I admired your willingness to bare your soul to us without reservations. We are truly privileged.
    Thank you.

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  7. nice, the writing really puts you into the character's head.

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  8. I was pulled right into her nightmare, both when she was asleep and awake. Her panic was real, her stress palpable. Nicely done!!

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  9. Hi, Nym.

    I thought I was used, by now, to the stark landscapes you excel in. I thought that nothing could unsettle me any more.
    Boy, was I wrong!


    Is it wrong of me to be happy to see this? Because I am. Thank you.

    Despite knowing that it had to be a nightmare, the beginning crashed down on me like the coldest of showers, and the second part was even more chilling in its simple, almost understated pain.

    I think in a lot of ways the second part is so much worse. Sort of a waking nightmarish landscape she can’t quite escape.

    We are truly privileged. Thank you.

    I’m the one who’s privileged. I appreciate your insights more than you know.


    Hi, Tom.

    Welcome. And thank you.

    Hi, Nicole.

    Thanks for letting me know that worked for you. I appreciate that.

    She really is having a rough time, isn't she?

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  10. I cringe at your description of panic and sleeplessness.

    Mad Hatter

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  11. Hi, Amy. Hi, Nessa. Thank you so much. :)

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