Searching For Serenity
I sit, legs crossed, palms facing the sky (or rather, the ceiling), thinking. The backs of my
eyelids turn a burnt orange color as they come into focus. My ears are filled with the sound of the silence becoming louder as I mentally block out my roommates yelling at each other. Breathe in through my nose, breathe out through my mouth. A rogue strand of hair sticks to my chapsticked lips as the oscillating air from my fan blows slowly past my cheeks. I imagine myself squeezing the anxiety out of my body like paint from a tube. Starting with my neck, I push it further down until it spills out through my fingers and toes in little puffs of navy blue and black smoke.
Breathe in through my nose, breathe out through my mouth. An image comes to mind.
I’m laying at the edge of something.Water. A lake? It rushes by in spirals and white caps. No, a river. My arms are reaching for the East and West, and my toes point South. I am where they meet, palms still facing the sky. North begins to itch; blades of emerald and topaz stick to the salt on the back of my neck, and I sit up, disturbing the compass rose. A light seeps through the needles of giants, sentinels, guarding me as I sit alone on the edge of this river. Solitude; no one can touch me here. I feel the freckles forming on my forearms and cheeks as the sun warms my skin. “Angel Kisses,” my grandmother used to call them.
Breathe in through my nose, breathe out through my mouth. I rise, drifting toward the
water, and sink my feet into the mud. It oozes between my toes and with each step that I take, little clouds of brown billow up from the river bed and obscure the clarity of the river water. The coolness inches up my legs, then torso and arms until I am in up to my neck and the current swirls around me, ignoring my presence, and continuing on its well-worn path. To the river, I am irrelevant, just another obstacle that can be worn away with time. I come to river to learn from it, to discover the secret to it’s patience and strength, which always seem to be just out of my reach.
Breathe in through my nose, breathe out through my mouth. It is quiet here. Not silent,
but humanity is not present, and the Earth produces it’s own music; the breeze rushing through golden-faced poppy fields and the river trickling over and around well-worn stones. Somewhere a whippoorwill’s call echoes against granite mountain faces and fills the valley with a simple melody. “No one can touch me here,” I repeat.
Breathe in through my nose, breathe out...it smells like weed. My nose and forehead wrinkle as I search for the source of the putrid smell. My eyes jerk open as my ears are assaulted by the sound of crashing cast iron pans. My palms no longer face the sky, but curl into fists at being disturbed from my meditation. I am suddenly aware of a saltiness on my lips and the dampness of my face. Breathe in through my nose, and try not to scream. The anxiety that has been slowly leaving my mind crashes back in like a tsunami wave.
I am back in reality, sitting on my bed in a darkened room in a house shared with two people that I love, and two other people that I hate. People that break their promises and refuse to take responsibility. People that blame me for their problems and constantly leave dirty dishes in the sink, on the counter, on the table, until they mold. Chore charts, grocery lists, to-do lists, homework lists, clothes organized by color and sleeve length; an obsessive compulsive routine. I repeat under my breath a list of my favorite words. Mellifluous. Iridescence. Ineffable. Luminescence. Serenity, serenity, serenity... It’s not working. The anxiety is welling up in my tear ducts and spilling down my face.
Breathe in through my nose, hold my breath. Exhale. The chronic bronchitis consumes
my chest and I cough uncontrollably as my throat constricts from the pot smoke seeping between my door and the dirty carpet. My feet are purple from the cold as I swing them off the bed and onto the floor. I try not to inhale as I take the six steps across my room to the door. The hallway reeks and I slam my door behind me harder than necessary as I take three more steps into the bathroom. Another door slammed hard.
Breathe in through my nose, cough out through my mouth. I crank the shower nozzle to
high heat and let the steam fill the room. With each item of clothing I remove, I try to imagine a bit of anxiety falling to the floor with it. Breathe steam in through my nose, and out through my mouth.
“You’re wasting water,” my former Environmental Studies major subconscious tells me.
I silently flip it off in my mind, as if a gesture could put it in it’s place. Ignoring my thoughts, I try to imagine that each drop of water is washing away my anxiety like sweat and dead skins cells. My eyes fix on the little whirlpool of water swirling down the drain and I think about how much this tub needs to be cleaned, scrubbed, scoured. If only I could bleach away my anxious thoughts as I bleach away the dirt and scum from the ceramic tile.
“This is so pathetic,” a whisper scolds me.
“Get your shit together,” another one spits.
“You’re so self centered,” that incessant voice mocks. “Your so-called ‘issues’ are
irrelevant. Think about all those people you know who have real problems, you selfish asshole.”
Are those tears or shower water washing down my face, I couldn’t tell you anymore.
They mix together in an unidentifiable liquid in the same way that my reality and my insomnia induced dream states combine until I can no longer remember which is real. Flashbacks still haunt me and slap me awake every hour or two. “Don’t touch me,” I cringe to no one in particular. The water still runs, but it never washes away those phantom touches.
Breathe in through my nose, breathe out through my mouth.
Breathe in through my nose, breathe out through my mouth.
Breathe in through my nose, breathe out through my mouth...
Biography
Rebecca Bradley is in her third year as an English Major and Art Studio Minor at Sonoma State University. She is looking forward to pursuing a career in Editing or Publishing upon graduation. For the time being, she currently works part time as a barista at Starbucks and a sales associate at a pottery store in Sebastopol, as well as maintains the executive position of Membership Recruitment Chairman in her sorority.
Rebecca Bradley is in her third year as an English Major and Art Studio Minor at Sonoma State University. She is looking forward to pursuing a career in Editing or Publishing upon graduation. For the time being, she currently works part time as a barista at Starbucks and a sales associate at a pottery store in Sebastopol, as well as maintains the executive position of Membership Recruitment Chairman in her sorority.