Stuck

Awareness fills out my body like warm honey, smooth and sticky into every limb and digit. Yes, that is my hand. It is on the counter. Yes, that is my knee. It is bent over the edge of the couch. We move together, the honey and I, as I braid my hair, as I walk to work. It sits behind my eyes and colors the leaves on the trees, the bricks on the buildings, the robin on the sidewalk. Wind tickles my face, and I feel the strands of my hair dancing across my nose. I am here, right here.

Sometimes, the honey flows backward toward my core. My skin is stripped of its electricity. Everything feels foreign. Yes, those are my fingers. But how are they moving? They are so far away. Yes, that is my leg. Can it straighten? The extremities I used to control are no longer mine, no longer where I am. I am inside, deep in my body’s center, where the honey wraps me in a warm hug. I’m curled up between ribs, I nuzzle into muscle. All of the sights and sounds that used to be vibrant are muffled by the layers between me and the outside world. Shhhhhhh the honey says to me. I let myself drift into it.

…

I lay on the big blue exam table in a room that’s half gym, half doctor's office. Hula hoops, elastic bands and colorful posters hang on the walls. A stray balloon winks at me from the corner. I slide a weighted vest across my stomach.

“Mammals,” my physical therapist says.

“Possum,” I reply, tapping my thumb and pointer finger together. “Monkey, rabbit, dog, c..c.” Cat, I think. Cat. Cat. My tongue gets stuck in the C sound. My mouth won’t widen into the A.

“Colors,” she commands.

“Bl.. Bl.” My eyes are open, but I do not see. My core crunches up, leaving my neck and shoulders behind on the table. I imagine it looks like an exorcism. “B..Bl..” I say between spasms. I roll onto my side and hug my knees. I let the contractions wash over me as the rest of my body goes limp. A ship at the mercy of the waves, and I, the sailor.

“ A color, Sarah,” She says, stubbornly.

It’s too hard to think, to speak, to tap my fingers together. It’s hard. It’s so hard. I focus my attention on my jaw, that faraway piece of machinery. “Bl..,” I mouth it first without air. “Bl..,” I breathe. My thumb and pointer finger twitch and tap. “Blu…Blue”.

…

I’ve been under a blanket for a week now. Undercover. The world is viscous, and I, through it, move slowly. Can they tell how I’m different? Can they see my arms are puppets and my legs built from rubber bands and paper? If they took my hand, could they feel its hollowness, could they snap off a finger, bring the stub to their eye, and peer all the way to my honeyed heart? Something is moving there. I am moving there, squirming in sweet, warm arms. There is not enough air.

I breathe, deep, slow. People walk by me in a blurry procession of colors and noises and smells. In the pocket of my jacket, I tap my pointer finger and thumb together. I hum to myself, Row, Row, Row Your Boat. I pitter-patter my feet on the sidewalk.

- I am sitting on a bench.

- It is cold.

- I see a crow.

- Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily

- I am full of soup.

- One of my nails is sharp.

- The sun is out.

I croon to the honey. Look how beautiful it is out here! Tap, hum, pitter-patter. I warm the honey, loosen its grip. Look how much fun I’m having! Tap, hum, pitter-patter. The hollow tubes of my fingers start to feel like mine again. Awareness shines behind my eyes, and I can see a pink hat, a purple backpack, the writing on a road sign. Tap, hum, pitter-patter. The thin clouds look soft, like stretched-out cotton candy. I close my eyes and feel the wind tickle my face. Strands of hair dance across my nose. I wish I could stay here, right here, but my eyes strain and the world falls back into blurriness. I try not to get frustrated, but I’m ready to be alive again, to feel, to see. It’s peaceful in the blurriness, but it’s lonely, it’s pointless. I need more than this muted reality, but I’m stuck.

…

My life comes back to me slowly and all at once. The world is beautiful. I am having fun. I forget about the place in my chest where a small indent hasn’t yet forgotten about me. Yes, I was sick, but not anymore. Yes, I had some trouble, but now I can move forward with my life, unburdened, unbound. But there have been casualties from the past few weeks. I have to step down as a Teaching Assistant because I can’t keep up with grading. My own lectures, assignments, and exams, previously out of focus, are now solid as rock. In the world outside of my body, I’m left to chip away.

When the honey moves with me so effortlessly, it’s hard to imagine it doing anything else. It’s easy to pass over weeks in memory when they were only ever half-lived. I forget what can leave me: my sight, my balance, my speech, my movement. I’m ambitious, I’m creative, I’m passionate, I’m hardworking, but those things are all stored in my fingertips, in my toes, in the tip of my nose. When my awareness retracts from the edges of myself, I am nothing, hollow. If you snapped off my finger and brought the tip to your eye, you would see my potential. Ecologist, Natural Resources Commissioner, Author, City Councilor, Activist, Mother, Artist. What you would not find there is me. I am folded deep inside myself, squirming in sweet, warm arms.

“Hear me,” I say to the honey, then. “I want to be unburdened, unbound. I will, I will. Let me stay in that beautiful place. Let me work hard for and accomplish my aspirations. And I will visit this place between my ribs again, and I will get back out. I will.”