‘Fatigue’

I didn’t see it coming, no one did. It isn’t surprising, the water rises with every challenging action and I had a busy day. I examined a viva this morning, meetings this afternoon, washing up in the kitchen, I cooked for friends who came over, I ate with them. Now we’re sat together chatting and laughing. Somehow I let myself forget, to live relentlessly, and my friend is talking about the wine and I’ve a story in mind w…

CRASH

The wave hits me from behind. 

I stop for a moment, the feeling familiar and overwhelming. I hold myself upright and wait for the feeling to pass. 

Caz has noticed, she always notices, even before me, the oncoming wave. She looks for an opportunity to intervene but I don’t use our secret gesture to signal for help. She waits. I want to be here. 

One of my friends makes a joke, we laugh. I take a sip of water. We talk about plans for tomorrow.

Crash

I hold myself against the water’s rush. I instinctively hold my breath. The water will pass. A friend messages me, she’s having a tough time and I message her back. My friends are talking about birthdays and pubs and time spent together. I smile, the conversation is beginning to pass me by. I catch my breath as I feel the water recede.

Crash

I physically buckle under its weight. To everyone around me it looks like I’m bent over my phone; to them the waters aren’t even audible much less visible, and they can’t see the wave that I need to breathe through, sit through, talk through, laugh through. 

As I catch my breath, parts of me begin to panic, suddenly unsure whether we can survive another impact, whether the feeling will ever stop. I grip the table with one hand. I try to focus on the conversation.

Crash

The table erupts in laughter; I’ve no sense of the joke that was told but I laugh along; I pick up enough of the conversation to answer a question, to make some contribution, enough to still be here. I want to be here. 

I text my friend, ‘you’re not alone’. I look to Caz, to my friends, I take heart. 

I brace myself. My thoughts narrow. My friends and the conversation lost. There is only the water’s will. The anticipation. The fear.  

Crash

I’m bent over the table. I right myself. I smile.

A thought comes unbidden from a voice in my own mind. A despairing reassurance. ‘This will stop, you just need to hold on’. ‘Hold on’.

I grit my teeth. I find my resolve. 

… crash …

Time passes. Somewhere distant a joke is told. Laughter. 

… … crash … …

.

… … … 

I feel the water retreat, my head breaking the surface, invisible to everyone else but I feel it. I breathe as if for the first time in a long time. The world comes back into view. My friends are here.

I look at the clock. An hour has passed. I try to store a future reassurance that an hour is all it usually takes. I thank that reassuring part of myself. I silently thank the fates for good friends and for Caz, her expression one of concern and reassurance, one that only I can see. 

My friends have noticed that I’m not ok, too, but they also hopelessly realise there is nothing they can do. 

They are here. I am here. For now, that is more than enough. 

.

Somewhere below, I hear the rumble of distant waves.