The voices begin, gremlin whispers at first, that become more insistent and convincing quickly, overtaking the lightness inside.
She feels her heart grip in her chest, stops breathing as if to quell them by denying them air. But they are unstoppable, somewhere inside she knows this.
The anxiety snaking through her muscles and the panic in her gut signal new chords of thought that join in with the voices. A cacophony within, compelling her to go home, get safe, now.
But there’s more than just the forceful compelling dark boom. There are silvery threads of sadness, an ache, as she looks out on the day. It is beautiful, pulsing, but the vibrant life feels separate from her somehow.
She’s torn between wanting to live in the world, to take her place in the throng, fulfill her purpose, and needing to heed the voices and the pull of the force within that wants her home.
The internal battle is ugly and choking. The warring sides are not equal. One is made stronger by the other’s resistance; the other, depleted.
Headed for the iceberg, there’s no turning back.
Just as the darkness crescendos, the lightness, the life force inside, gives up. Like giving in to the pull of an undertow, that part of her goes limp and releases to the strength of other forces. Releases into the dark of the ocean.
It is a familiar dark place, a quiet void, from which she will be spit back to shore again, at some point.
Spent, beleaguered, dazed, she will crawl back to civilization, to piece herself together, and begin again.