For the last week, I feel like I’ve been living from the neck up. There is a tightness in my chest that prevents me from drawing a deep belly breath, a sandy tired feeling behind my eyes that usually comes with too many sleepless nights or too many hours at the computer. There is a dead weight in the center of my chest where my heart chakra should be, spinning and glowing emerald and rose. It’s like I can’t get fully into my body — like I am refusing to get fully into my body, because if I can avoid inhabiting my body I can avoid inhabiting this new reality, the one shot through with fear and uncertainty.
I’m living from the neck up because intellectualizing is what I do when the shit goes down, it’s what I have always done during dark times. If I can think my way out of something, come up with fact-based arguments and concrete plans, it keeps the terror from taking hold. I find myself consumed with organizing, with emails, with spreadsheets, with all these things I can control, because so much seems so out of control now.
I feel like if I allow myself to be fully present in my body, to feel all the sensations that arise from the vessel of blood and sinew and bone I call home, that I will start screaming and never be able to stop.