The Floats

The Floats are plaguing me again, that state where my feet feel leaded down walking/trudging through clouds. Today I was at my favorite tea shop, and I made myself sit right in the middle of the shop where the owners could see me because I could feel myself start to disappear, float away. I thought if I put myself in front of people I would, hopefully, be less likely to space out like a zombie with a thousand yard stare. But, still, there I was, floating away, and I would say to myself, “Stay. Stay here. Don’t go.” Sometimes it would work. Other times I just let myself space out.

Earlier in the week, I had an upsetting interaction with someone. I can’t write about the interaction as I’m afraid to get triggered again. But it catapulted me into another time and place with my mother. I was frightened and my entire body shook violently. My head felt like it had been kicked in, and my chest had the sensation that it was closing in on me. I hate that I have moments like this. I look like a freak, and feel like a freak when moments like this happen.

Is this how it will always be for me? Is the idea of recovery just that … an idea, a concept, a fantasy?

Sometimes I feel so strong, and able, and with it. Times like that, I am actually proud of myself. Then there are times like this, where I wonder what the hell I am trying to do with my life. I wonder why I keep trying in the face of all the difficulties.

I have no real answers to those questions, except perhaps I don’t want to miss out if there is a chance to recover.

I’m sitting in that tea shop spaced out, and this elderly woman with a reddish brown cardigan asks me why I’m not sitting in my usual spot. I almost don’t hear her because I’m spaced out. I’m annoyed at first that she is talking to me. She tells me that some people are in her usual spot, the blue chairs (she loves the blue chairs), and she does not like having to sit elsewhere. Somehow I find my voice, and say, “Oh, yes, I’m a creature of habit too. But I decided to mix it up today and sit out here.” And then we start talking about movies, and the fact that we both love the independent theatre in town. She also reads movie reviews before viewing to make sure the movie is not too upsetting or violent. The movie, Blue Jasmine, made us both teary. She asks me to google author Lynda La Plante for her on my phone. We both love police procedurals on tv. And then the place closes down for the night. I pay for my stuff, and leave. I hear her tell the owners, “I sure liked talking to that girl.” I felt the same way talking to her. And that’s why I keep trying, for those small moments that would otherwise not be possible if I gave up. I wish I could have thanked her for helping me fend off The Floats.

7 thoughts on “The Floats

  1. I think it’s great that you managed to have a conversation with this nice lady, even though you were feeling floaty. That’s a great achievement, and maybe you will see her again and can speak again. If she has a regular seat, she must go there often too! Take care xx

  2. Pingback: The Floats | angry brat blog

  3. Yes, this is recovery. Now that you are in your healing process, every time you are triggered and relive a memory, you are processing it a little which you didn’t get to do before. Each time, you are healing. I used to get very frustrated with the process — get it done, for pete’s sake! — and I wish someone had been there to tell me that what’s important is the journey through. It’s like a cut healing — the body does it in layers. You are healing your psyche in layers.

    What a wonderful angel that older woman was for you! Perhaps you will see her again. It sounded like you had some fun interests in common.

    Hang in there, be patient, and above all, be gentle with yourself!


    • Hi Cinda,

      I love hearing from you, especially since you seem to be echoing what I’ve been hearing in therapy. I’m told I’m getting better, though some days it really does not feel that way. I guess I should trust what I’m hearing from other’s observations. I’ve been hearing that it looks like I’m getting better, and, no often, it puzzles me, particularly when I’m feeling terrible.

      As always, much appreciation.


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