Hypervigilance

My friendscape has shifted, changed. Bits that were corroding have broken off, bits have been added, some bonds that had gently relaxed are stronger now than they ever were. Some remain constant, a comforting presence, like an invisible circle of hands holding you in, keeping you away from dangerous edges.

I am in a state of hypervigilance. This is what I have been told. It is likely to be related to why sleep has been such an issue for me. In a world of friends, I fear the unseen foe: the woolly mammoth around the corner, as a wise woman so aptly described it to me recently. Hearing that analogy made me laugh, even though the context of the rest of our conversation would make most people cry.

Like Madonna, (and yes, I am aware of how trite that sounds), I have a tale to tell. Sometimes I hide it well. But (keeping with Madge)... it burns inside of me. And when something burns with such intensity, you need to manage it, to create some distance from it.

It is necessary to treat such a thing as a foe – you need to keep it close enough to see what it is up to. You look into its blinking, cunning eyes, see into its darkness and the places where its tendrils have secretly snaked their way into your being, and then, only then, can you peel away the creepers, take it by the scruff of its neck and shove it aside for good.

Sometimes you bleed during the process. The process can be so painful that you are numb, and only when you are in a place of relative safety can you let yourself examine yourself and see what shape the cuts are, what hue the bruises and then – then – you begin to apply balm and dressings and although you are raw, something has changed.

A few people are aware of your tale – you don't know why you chose to tell them but you did. They clicked on some level; their strength, knowledge and compassion, perhaps invisible to others, is visible to you, and it is a relief to share such things, to see that the aftermath of the telling does not repel but in fact draws them closer.