Holding of the breath

There is this thing that I do when I am scared. I literally stop breathing for a moment to quiet myself. Now before you start sending in paramedics I only do it for a literal moment. Just a quick instant to hush all of the noise that a body can make during all of that inhaling and exhaling stuff. Sometimes my heartbeat will become really loud. Sometimes the air-conditioner will clang to life. But usually it is just a pure, quiet, silence. And in that silence I am able to tell myself things: Calm down, it will all be OK, it is out of your control…

At this point in the trying game I am running from one breath holding moment to the next. I am rendered completely incapacitated by fear and hope: twin sisters that have taken over for the butterflies and are now braiding each other’s hair inside my rib cage.

There is no in between or half way outcome. The pendulum will either swing out and stay out in a land that is unknown to me, or it will swing back in and chop up my insides and a very familiar way. This is my least favorite part of waiting. There is no bullshit conversation that you can have with yourself that will con your body into working the way you want it to. It either will. Or it won’t.

And it doesn’t stop me from doing the stupid quantifying mind fucks. I light a candle in the morning and if it is still lit by evening I declare meaning in it. I am only human, and isn’t it in our nature to want there to be a reason for everything? Thunder in the sky- the gods must be angry. Lit candle on the kitchen counter- the gods must be giving me a baby.

Ew.

I can’t believe I typed that word. Pretend I didn’t. It gets in the way of my zen.

Sadly I don’t seem to be able to DO much other than hold my breath, gasp for breath, light candles, and watch marathons of Mad Men on demand. If you asked me to bet on an outcome I would not be hopeful.