Meltdowns are a lot like tsunamis. There’s a big crash of the wave where I completely disassociate from my body, lashing out like a wounded animal out of terror.
Then there is the after moments, which are worse in many ways. My entire body hurts and I find myself exhausted and empty. I feel hung over and drained. I feel dizzy and scared.
Every time I melt down, I hope it’s the last one. And then another one comes, and it never gets any easier.
I melted today. The details are not important and I dealt with the issue, but I still melted down and now I am lying in bed, shaking because I’m still experiencing the aftershocks.
I have no memory of how I got to my appointments today or how I got home. My entire day is now a blur of exhaustion and shattered memories. I am losing the ability to speak as my brain runs on emergency powers. I can write but I can only echo other words. My brain can’t spare the neurons to form my own.
I don’t feel suicidal but I want to sleep forever and to never wake up. Being awake feels too traumatic and overwhelming.
If I am honest, the only solution would be to become a hermit. After all, I only meltdown if I interact with other people.
To paraphrase Bob Marley, no friendship, no cry.
As I wrote this, I thought about disappearing. Just cutting all ties with everyone besides my patents and running away to start a life in some place where I would have minimal interaction with others.
After all, running from your problems is good in Krav Maga.
The problem is, I love my friends. It would be a lot easier if I didn’t love them so fiercely and fully and completely.
I just do. I love them so much it hurts and bruises me. Every interaction has the potential to destroy me. Socializing baffles and overwhelms me, yet, I still reach out to embrace them. I crash upon the shore again and again.
Even though right now, I wish for oblivion, they are worth this pain, the way roses are worth the thorns.
And tomorrow, I’ll try again.