The Perfect Storm

The perfect storm cannot be predicted by a weatherman. It does not involve precipitation falling from the sky. The perfect storm is a human storm. It is a storm that originates in the brain and spreads out until it pours from the eyes, hands, and mouth. This storm is perfect in that it requires just the right combination of factors to explode into being. It is perfect because it is violent and disturbing. It violates the senses; your very sense of self. It disobeys the laws of personhood. It tears you apart, sometimes literally. It bombards you with emotions, sensations, reactions, and behaviors.

The perfect storm has no eye, no false sense of calm. It starts rapidly and lasts and lasts. It is urgent and forceful. It is harmful, and it asks you to bring that harm upon yourself. It brings forth precipitation in the form of tears, things thrown, and words you cannot take back. Sights inside yourself that you cannot unsee; actions you cannot undo. Are you telling yourself what to do, or is someone else telling you? Someone who has taken up residence in your mind, without paying any rent.

Today I am in the middle of the perfect storm. In reality, there is a storm outside and the thunder is a fitting backdrop for the feelings raging through my body. The darkness reflects how my soul feels; I don’t turn on any lights. After the last week of hypomania, I am finally being dragged down by depression once again, and it feels like falling into a hole that I can’t climb out of. It all feels like it is leading up to something inevitable, something bad. Something from which I cannot turn back.

My dog, curled up in fear under my desk and shaking, looks just the right amount of scared to represent what I am battling in my mind. We listen to soothing piano music, trying to drown out the frightening noises. We sit together, attuned to the rhythmic sounds of typing and the drops of rain pelting down. Together, we wait out the storm.

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