Insanity

I have stood at the brink of the pit of insanity. It’s nothing like I expected it to be.

I expected the fall to be short, sunny and delirious. I expected the slide into insanity would be a gentle one, surrounded by wild, yet happy thoughts. Or even if they were not so happy, to at least have that warm oblivion wrapped around my brain like a heavy comforter on a cold day. I expected to be buffeted from the pain, the fear….oh god, the fear!

As I stood on the edge of the pit, the ground beneath me began to crumble. At that same moment, I lost all equilibrium. The fear of falling outweighed the fear of losing my children, which outweighed the fear of the fight to keep them. It outweighed the grief I felt in not having my husband with me. It outweighed the loneliness, the frustration, and the anger.

It outweighed them, but it did not erase them.

I can’t breath. I can’t think. I’m losing my grip on the ground beneath me and my grip on reality too.

The kitchen was spinning before my dazed eyes and the fear; the fear tried to swallow me. Or rather, it tried to force me to swallow it; infuse itself into me like a teabag infuses tea into hot water. The fear and I were nearly one, and I couldn’t catch my breath.

So this is what insanity feels like.

When you stand on the brink of the pit of insanity, you feel as if you are going to vomit. And pass out. And scream and cry and whimper and scream some more. There is no silently slipping into oblivion. Insanity is something that you go into, eyes wide with fear, nails clawing at the grit and pebbles at the edge of the pit. 

Somehow, I’m not sure how, I managed to claw my way back out. I was covered in dirt and dust and was breathing hard, even as I let go of the counter and wandered aimlessly into the all-but-empty living room.

That was a close one. Let’s not do that again, shall we?

Yes, good idea.

I have stood at the brink of the pit of insanity and let me tell you, it’s simply nothing like I expected it to be.