The Eye of a Tornado

My theater teacher once told my class a story. An old friend hiding down in a bunker during a tornado. The tornado goes right over them and, “I couldn’t make a sound. It was like a vacuum”. The story was much more comedic in context, but today I thought of it again and realized how I knew that feeling.

I am in the midst of my own tornado. It’s fueled by depression, past trauma, and the reality of an unfair world. Even the smallest thing going wrong makes the wind blow faster. This tornado is perhaps the scariest thing I’ve faced before. Suddenly it’s worse then before. Fueled by the shattering of first love. Perhaps this is the humor of the Gods.

Everything seems so loud. I can hear the wind hitting my only hiding place. The only place that knows safety. But the noises pierce my senses. It’s so loud I can taste it, feel it. It is everywhere. The only way my being can react is by shutting down. The overstimulation winning. It’s almost as though everything is louder to me. Different to me. It makes things hard.

This Tornado is fueled by my reactions. As the wind blows past I can make out voices being echoed. They tell me my feelings are fake. They tell me I’m weird. They tell me I’m an alien. The tornado laughs.

It’s a storm I cannot survive. A mountain I cannot climb. A desert I cannot cross.

I’m quite sure it could kill me.

Then everything stops. No sound. No pain. A vacuum created by the tornado. It’s ironic how the same thing that could kill you then helps you. The tornado took everything. No happiness, but no sadness either. A small price to pay for a moment free of pain. A moment free of crushing pressure and exploding noise.

I realize it will go back to how it was soon. Only anguish. The voices that see through me and pick the most rotten feelings. The horrible noise.

I need help.

I try so hard. My vocal cords feel like ripping. I just need someone to hear me. Help me. I try until my lungs collapse. The worst realization hits.

I can’t make a sound. I’m alone.

The vacuum that helped me took away something valuable. I can’t make a sound. I can’t cry and release ymt emotions to maybe feel just a little better. The vacuum took my voice and my tears. Every emotion I once had gone and thrown to the dogs. They feast on them.

Maybe this should just end.

The only thing that keeps me from intentionally setting foot out of the bunker and into the storm to meet the wrath of god and kill the godforsaken silence is a small light. I don’t know if it’s truly there or just inside my head. It’s dim and hard to see. But it is there. A small glimmer of hope.

It burns brighter each time my friends invite me somewhere. It burns brighter when my mom hugs me and tells me I’ll be okay. It burns brighter each time I laugh or smile. Each time I feel as though everything could be okay.

It’s been getting brighter lately. Perhaps the seasons have changed. Maybe it’s the prospecting of finally getting something after years of want. Or maybe it’s a second cousin offering to help me move to my dream town.

It could also be something smaller. Watching fireworks from a hot tub. My cats velvety fur or mg dogs endless happiness. The small things add up.

Things have gotten a little better. I know the storm is still close. But now I have a light to keep me safe and warm.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be okay.