A Wrinkle in Time... Pt. II

2008

The house was quiet tonight. Most of the gang had gone out for some bubble tea, but I had to work tomorrow morning and wanted some extra rest. Plus, I had a date on Friday. I really liked this new girl. Of all the ones I’d dated the past few years, I’d never been more excited than I was now. It had only been a week, but perhaps it would turn into something serious. It’d been a long time since I’d felt this way.

A crack of thunder reverberated through the old house and for a moment, dizziness overwhelmed me. I stumbled towards the front door.

Outside, the sky looked like a sea of shifting blackness. I slumped down on the porch and rubbed my forehead. Something was happening, but whether it was just a headache or the pressure from school getting to me, I wasn’t sure.

Rain started to fall. Not hard, but in gentle sweeps that belied the fierce crackling of thunder. In the distance, two bolts of lightning lit up the sky. When they did, I spotted a stranger at the end of my driveway. He was about average height and thick through the shoulders. His black hoodie hid his face. 

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How to be Perfect

Sweat rolled down my face as I slowed to walk. I strolled down Cameron Street and checked my phone to see how far I’d run. Nearly one and a half kilometers without stopping. Nice!

For most runners, that would have been a joke. But for someone who was only starting to enjoy it, it was a big deal. Today, for the first time, I felt different. Not joy, exactly. More like emotional relief. As much as I loved the gym, not even a great day lifting weights gave me this feeling. I guessed that there were some physiological or psychological reasons for this, whether it was the way the endorphins were released or that it was something I’d never been good at, but running had suddenly become a different experience.

So why had it changed? And why now?

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Roberto Osuna and a Day in the Life

My eyes snapped open. I groaned and rolled over to check the time. 5:34am. Shit. I turned on my side and tried to fall back asleep, but my mind had started moving in accelerated fashion, flooded with thoughts of failure and anxiety. I forced myself to stay in bed and drifted off. I woke up again a while later and tried to check the time on my cell phone. I had difficulty picking it up. My hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

I grimaced. I knew what was coming, and with my shaking hands, it took me a while to punch in a short message to work. Sick again. I didn’t get paid when I didn’t work, and this had been happening far too often lately. I took a deep breath. Though I’d messaged work I was going to be absent, I tried to get up. Tried to fight it.

Nothing.

My body did not cooperate. I lay there, overwhelmed, as tears filled my eyes. There was nothing for me to do but wait. After about an hour I drifted into semi-consciousness. I dreamed I’d run over a family with my car. It didn’t make sense, but my dreams rarely did on days like this. There was nothing to do but stare at the ceiling.

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When the Shadows Come

            I looked down at the busy street below. I was sitting in my usual spot on the balcony, twenty floors up. Sunlight glinted off the tall buildings around my condo, and the sound of a jack hammer echoed along the street. It was another bad day. There’d been too many lately, so many I couldn’t remember the last time the clouds had lifted. I’d dealt with depression since my early twenties, but this was probably as bad as it had ever been.

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